


I, Garak

by Cyrelia_J



Series: Let Me Hear [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Dubious Science, Explicit Sexual Content, Felching, Genetic Engineering, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Sort of Omega Verse, What-If, snowblowing, some choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrelia_J/pseuds/Cyrelia_J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years after the events of "O, Julian," Julian and Garak have maintained a mutually beneficial arrangement that, much to Julian's horror, is progressing towards a much deeper relationship. Julian finally sees a way out with the approval of his requisition, but he has one last heat cycle to get through before he's in the clear. Easy enough, until he finds himself trapped in Ops with the whole station under threat from a malfunctioning security system. Julian Bashir is about to embark on the official "Worst Day of His Life".</p><p>And that's before Gul Dukat shows up.</p><p>“I had initially thought to demand control of the station be relinquished to Cardassian command... ...But I seem to have found something much more enticing.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of me really could write a separate fic for just the potential note alone. There are actually quite a few things I'd really like to say about a lot of the specifics and concepts here, but I'll try and be brief. "O, Julian" was written initially as a stand alone and if you're happy with that then you can absolutely pretend this doesn't exist (I'm not gonna lie, I've done that before myself). If you think you'd like to read more but have a specific idea of how you'd like it to play out or if you have any objections to the tags so far I really do encourage you not to read this whole thing since the tags aren't used lightly. That being said, on the note of the tags/warnings, I know a lot of people who've read the first wouldn't have any objection to certain themes here. I also want to, I don't know disclaimer or what have you, on the matter of rape/non con tag. There is absolutely no consent whatsoever from Julian to let Dukat screw him- and Garak points out perhaps somewhat hypocritically that Julian is incapable in his current state of consenting to anything.
> 
> Now this story is written with the intent to titillate playing to that kink. So while I do not in any way advocate the behaviors and situations portrayed to play out in any fashion in real life, I'd be lying if I said that there aren't elements of what I've written and what I'm going to write that I don't find arousing. There are some who would say that's all well and good but why share it at all and leave myself open to that censure? Simply put, human beings aren't quite as unique as we like to think, and whether it's a small number of people or not, there are definitely others who share my kink in this and my enjoyment of these types of stories. In addition to that I'm a writer with an ego. I enjoy sharing these things with like minded people knowing they'll be appreciated.
> 
> That's not to say I'm not open to criticism on any technical points, execution, characterization, or even any civil debates on the morality of character's decisions. But I'm too self centered when it comes to my free time to spend it arguing with anyone who doesn't seem to have any goal besides arguing, trolling, speculating on my personal life/history, or venting their anger at something that offended them. I do also want to express appreciation to those who had commented in my defense in the last story. I don't answer comments like that but it's nice to see that people understand where I'm coming from.
> 
> So thanks to my readers, thanks to anyone who's slogged through this obscene note, and of course, your thoughts are always welcome :)

“You wanted to see me, Commander?” Julian Bashir stands curiously in front of the large desk before his shift is set to start. He lets his attention move to the baseball on the desk so as to resist the temptation to read over any material on the desk that he knows he shouldn’t be able to.

“Yes. I wanted to let you know that I may have some good news for you, Doctor.” Julian perks at this, having his suspicions as to the source of said good news. _Yes, thank you father, for surely you didn’t intend your meaningless offer of assistance, of “anything I should require” to be accepted, but for once the cosmic joke is on you._ Julian smiles, looking expectantly, not quite daring to hope but-

“Yes, Commander?” He cannot contain the excitement from seeping into his voice, weight shifting eagerly. Is it about the ah...” Julian trails off, a sudden self consciousness arising. _Really, Julian, you’re a doctor, you’ve discussed all sorts of race specific ailments, biological processes, injuries without judgment, surely you can address your own idiosyncrasies with the same clinical dispassion._

Of course that sounds all well and good in theory but in actually, Julian just coughs and looks off to the side with a scratch to the back of his neck. Mercifully, Commander Sisko saves him from further explanation.

“It is. Now, I’m not making any promises. We’ve been going back and forth between Starfleet and the Bajoran Government for some time with this but I think with this information we should be able to complete the requisition.”

“Then they understand. They understand the... necessity. You _know_ this is not for any sort of recreational use, for God’s sake, it’s a standard non prescription field medicine-”

“I know.” Commander Sisko holds up a hand, but his look is not unsympathetic. “I’ve explained several times that it’s absurd to expect you to have to take a leave every three months when the solution is so simple. However, Doctor, while I understand your feelings about the situation, this could have been avoided if you had been more forthcoming when applying for this assignment.”

Julian sighs, knowing that this is part of the necessary ruse, that this is the best that he could do given the circumstances and the completely mortifying situation which led to some sort of explanation to begin with.

“I understand, sir. I’m very grateful even so that this is being considered. It’s not ah... an ideal situation but I’ve been able to manage.” Julian swallows, thankful that his complexion has never been prone to blushing even when his face feels hot. “Mr. Garak has been em...” _Been what, Julian? A good sport? A happy participant in your quarterly degradation? A kind and gentle master?_ Julian trails off quickly changing the subject. “Did Starfleet say when the... shipment would be available?” Julian knows he sounds far too hopeful, knows there’s no way that he’d receive the loperamide in time to break the next cycle, but even the thought of there being an end in sight is enough to relieve his burdened mind. _And you need to break it. You’ve let this go way too far. weekly lunches, dinners, looks, touches,_ _dreams_ _..._

“I’m afraid the shipment, if the requisition is approved, wouldn’t arrive for another few weeks.” Commander Sisko at least looks sympathetic to his visible deflation as he takes a look at the duty upcoming duty roster. “Will you need the time next Thursday?” he asks with blessed discretion. Julian considers it briefly but shakes his head. “No, Friday should be fine. I know you said not to push it,” he’s quick to add to the measured look that he receives. “But I assure you, sir it won’t be a problem I’ve ah... gotten the calculations down rather precisely and as long as it’s not the late shift I can certainly manage.” He shifts from one foot to another, unable to hide his exasperation. He knows that it’s close, his patience shorter than it normally is, the heat a manifest of a few brief flashes of emotion.

“Doctor, _Julian_ , no one here thinks any less of you for taking the time that you need-”

“Commander,” he interrupts mentally chastising himself even as he does. “Please don’t read me the Starfleet policy on reasonable accommodations for the disabled.” _Because I really don’t think I could take it right now._

Commander Sisko nods, making the adjustment to the schedule. 

“We all know how hard you work doctor. Just relax,” he adds with a smile that somehow seems more ominous than reassuring. “Everything will be fine.”

 

Elim Garak is a patient man. More often than not, that patience is not the result of choice, but rather of circumstance. He watches his hand on the stylus as he draws the lines, long, neat, the curve of the model’s bust almost an afterthought as he decides that the waist really ought to be higher, below the breast. An empire waist, they call it in Federation Standard and he quirks a small smile at that name. _Perhaps, Elim, it is the closest to an Empire that you will ever come._ He glances at the sheets spread out on the large table, several other models dressed in clothing of a more Bajoran design, but today Garak has decided to put his attention home, adding the beading, a faint splash of color to the low neckline, a faux wrap around the shoulders sewn in. _Yes, today is a fine day to be a Cardassian, isn’t it?_

He considers that as he signs his name to the bottom corner, carefully laying the sketch on a growing stack of dreams that will likely keep piling up until they reach the ceiling. Garak envisions stacks upon stacks of them one day crushing him in a myriad of tiny stinging paper cuts leaving nothing but the feebly twitching artist’s hand reaching out for someone to save him. Garak shakes his head at the thought. These are not the lurid imaginings that Julian teases him about, but they are, sadly, the ones more frequently at the forefront of his thoughts. _But speaking of the good doctor..._ Garak takes stock of the time, debating whether he ought to move his midday break from the back of his shop to the replimat where dozens of lively conversation and people will flit about, all his to observe from behind a glass of rokassa juice and a rather interesting datapad Julian had dropped into his lap.

Garak looks down, drawing it back to the forefront of his attention. _Five hours and thirty three minutes until the end of his shift. Really, it’s tempting fate as the humans would say to cut it this close but then again, Julian is too young to have properly learned your caution._ Garak’s eyes roam once again over the saved transmission, carefully copied for his perusal and presented quite lovingly with a slap to the counter and a glare that was already beginning to morph from that usual smoldering resentment to hot heavy heat. Garak blinks a few times at that memory reminding himself that he does still have that rather nice chunk of time to pass until it will be advantageous to actually entertain those thoughts. 

 _“I, Richard Bashir, do affirm under oath and understanding the penalty for perjury that the following is correct and accurate to the best of my knowledge...”_ _Ah, and there are the scans of the documents, the birth certificate, the affidavit, all the necessary paperwork to back up the claim that should at the very least hold up under the first one or two layers of scrutiny. It would appear that someone owed someone else a rather large favor indeed._ The missive bears the truth of that statement as painfully, pointlessly long as some would find it but in truth it paints a rather interesting character study of one half of Julian’s genetic makeup. Julian has spoken little of his father, none of it flattering, except perhaps his natural gift for talking. Garak is sure that Julian must have been terribly desperate to reach out to “that self aggrandizing old sod,” to arrange such an elaborate ruse on his behalf.

 _Yes, desperate to escape this unconscionable arrangement as he so endearingly put it. Because he doesn’t love you, he said. Because it is so terribly unhealthy to be engaged in this sordid arrangement of convenience for this period of time and wouldn’t you rather a partner utterly devoted to you heart and soul?_ Garak chuckles softly to himself remembering how Julian quite smugly set the PADD down swearing that it was gospel truth, just daring him to say otherwise. Garak had merely smiled politely and congratulated him on escaping his foul reptilian clutches. Julian’s stammering objection, that apology to any offense given was a perfect study opportunity. And then it came. Julian leaning in, holding his hands tightly, breathing hard, looking in his eyes while Garak remain still, silent, not making a move. He watched Julian’s face close in impulsive, automatic, and where he once would have brought himself back under control and pulled away almost violently, he didn’t. And Garak lets himself indulge in the memory of Julian’s tongue lapping at his mouth playfully, panting, leaning over the counter, his head tilting with a soft “sorry” whisper pant between them..

Garak finishes his reading, taking a sip of warm sticky sweet tea. _That was nearly a month out now, wasn’t it? At the start there was little outside the cycle time but now objectively it’s say only a few weeks without him initiating physical touch, teasing, still apologies but likely that will fade._ _He really cannot believe that bringing the cycles under control will suddenly cease nearly three years of learned behavioral patterns does he?_ Garak hardly thinks so but far be it for him to cruelly stomp out that foolish optimism before it can be yanked back to reality. But even should that be the case, Garak has always been pragmatic about the fickle nature of relationships and has made his peace with that possible outcome. Peace, and a determination to savor the next few days to the fullest. Garak considers the time again finding his attention woefully wandering. Five hours give or take. Five hours until three months of dreams, frustrated adolescent fantasy masturbatory sessions will be replaced by one very hot, needy doctor panting, begging, crawling all over him. Yes, Elim Garak is a patient man. He knows how to wait.

 

 _Dear God in heaven, I’ve never been a religious man but if I can get out of this with my dignity intact..._ Julian kneels in front of Jadzia carefully treating the wound on her hand wondering why of all the stupid things to be stubborn about he had to chose this. _Oh but you just_ _had_ _to prove to Commander Sisko that you’re capable, that this disability does not define you, good job on that one, now you’re stuck here starting to go into heat like the strays that Aunt Eleanor used to feed when you could’ve been safely in your room with-_ Julian blanches at that thought tamping it down lest it start any unwarranted reactions prematurely. He shoots Jadzia a smile that’s meant to be reassuring but probably comes off looking like some sort of intestinal discomfort as he practically runs out of the pit as far away from any human or even alien contact that he can manage. Of course they’re all aware in a blessedly vague way of the nature of his quarterly quarantine but it’s a far different thing to actually have to be _near_ it as Palis complained at him once upon a time. _What was that she said now? It had an aroma of ferret crossing cat urine? I suppose I ought to at least thank you father for not trying to bottle it and sell it as an impotence cure like some ancient traveling huckster._

 _At least Jadzia has the decency not to say anything, so help me father if you think for one second that we’re even close to being “squarsies”... Ah, and now we have neurocine gas about to be pumped into the habitat ring, there’s your famous luck, Julian, now all we need is another fluctuation with the wormhole or Q or a tapdancing unicorn and you may be able to honestly say it’s the worst day in your entire life._ Julian listens to Kira, to that damned recording as he takes a deep breath telling himself that’s it’s all overdramatic nonsense, that he can surely find from his adolescent to adult years any number of comparable days that are equally “the worst ever.” He closes his eyes for a moment, feeling his stomach growl, feeling an almost touch of vertigo as he tries to pretend that he’s the only one there. He even tells himself that if he hides behind the damn console he might be able to keep some semblance of his dignity. Julian can just _feel_ Jadzia’s sympathetic gaze turn from her own plight to him. And then, wonder of wonders, he hears Garak’s voice and prays once again to the Wormhole aliens or whoever else might be listening that it is only his imagination heating up from the promise of a torrid liaison after his shift.

Julian opens his eyes, a bit of a blur to the focus just in time to catch one Elim Garak inexplicably in the flesh giving him a small smile that’s painfully empathic. Correction. _Now_ it is officially the worst day of his life. Julian takes a deep breath, turning away, focusing on the railing, realizing dumbly that it’s now the railing that he’s clutching and he’s already moved a few feet to close that distance. He holds it tighter, knowing that he cannot think about Garak, cannot see Garak, cannot do anything but start counting slowly in his mind. 

“Ironic, isn’t it?” he hears Garak begin and he nearly laughs. _Yes ironic. Ironic that just when I thought there was a chance in hell I could get through this..._ Julian feels the sweat beginning to pool beneath his palms and that heat that he’d felt earlier begins anew with ferocity, a full bodied flush that he swears he can feel all the way down to his toes. He curls them tightly, body a coiled spring, knowing that if he cannot relax then he needs to lock every bit of that waiting tension to hold him still even if it kills him. But the one thing that he cannot seem to do even as he counts every tiny porous part of that rail is block out Garak’s voice as he continues to talk to Kira.

“I’d like nothing better than to-” _fuck me... shuttup Julian shuttup you shuttup body brain whatever he’s not here for you. He’s not he’s_ _not_ _._ Julian bites the inside of his cheek arms locked tight as if he could will his body to a complete folded implosion on the spot. “Several times...” _Yes... several... over and over please I need..._

“Tss....” Julian bites harder feeling pain blossom out, eyes his blinking more rapidly those words filtering to what his quickly fevering brain is warping them to be. And then he is aware suddenly that there are eyes on him from the entirety of ops and that attention makes his head clear just enough to stare at the forcefield behind Garak’s head as the pieces of the conversation slam him to the present.

“Garak, do you have any idea how we can stop the neurocine gas?” He can feel the blood pounding in his head in release as he releases the rail, letting the tension out, knees nearly buckling when in that moment of inattention he slips, that eye contact coming to Garak’s and it’s all he can do even with that warning look not to throw himself forward like an animal.

Garak licks his lips, surely unconsciously, surely not deliberately, not to make him have to wipe sweaty palms off on his uniform, over his thighs. Julian’s hands stay there, just imagining for a moment, a flash of Garak’s hands over his thighs, squeezing, making him-

“Julian!” His entire body jerks with that sharp sound of his name, attention focusing through that haze to Kira, staring at him almost in stunned disbelief. His mouth is dry, it almost hurts to swallow. He really needs water as hot as it is, but his head nods almost comically, an exaggerated bob up and down, not daring to look at Garak. She is aware, intellectually, in some vague way of his condition, but he can only imagine the reality of seeing versus hearing and he grits his teeth with a tight apology.

“Yes... s-sorry...” _Yes, sorry surely some part of you thought I was making this up for a few days off to shag my spoonhead lover is that it?_ He grimaces, pushing that thought aside knowing that Kira has to know him better than that after all these years.

He practically blanches at the quick wrinkle of her nose, self consciously knowing that surely _that_ must be starting; that release of pheromones, that heat that- _God, turn away, Julian._ He breathes out hard, forcing himself to focus on the problem. _Gas... the gas... c’mon Julian you can... can... God..._

“The only way to do that is to destroy the life support system,” Julian hears Garak say as he tries to redirect his attention to the open panel where Jadzia had been working. It doesn’t work.

“The life support system?” He practically whirls, advancing, every centimeter closer drawing him in like a dark inky well of black beautiful heat and somehow he envisions the entirety of ops dogpiling on him to hold him back. They don’t, however, and he is aware on some level that he should have been more up front, more forthcoming with the exact details of his... condition. Never in his wildest dreams would he have envisioned- “That’s insane, even for you, Garak.” Julian sees the warning in those eyes as they stare back at him- to remain at arm’s length, to not get any closer.

It wouldn’t be the first time or even the first inopportune time that such a madness has seized him, his desire to obey at such violent odds with his need to be-

“Are you trying to get us all killed?” he all but hisses, seeing that lust darkening dawning of the color of Garak’s eyes starting to mirror his. There’s a sharp draw of breath as he’s close enough to touch, close enough to beg silently, his focus starting to narrow at an alarming rate to one and only driving need. “Are you that pitifully desperate to keep a hold of me that you’d-“

“Julian…” Garak warns, though the warning in that tone carries the undercurrent of a danger manifest in a hard furious pounding. He holds up a finger, one of a few signs devised between the both of them to train and train some semblance of control to those overpowering instincts. As time has progressed, they’ve both found that it Julian doesn’t always obey as quickly when directed not to touch him, that drive increasing in its intensity to  mate. But the sign works. Julian is stayed only by that most stringent of training, a meter shy of that contact. “Back…” Garak says with a hard swallow and Julian knows that Garak is reacting to that heat as well; and not just those pheromones but that biting baiting that Julian has learned utterly inflames him.

“No, that’s it.” Jadzia’s voice comes at him, circling like an underwater sound wave pulsing past him. He tries to turn his attention to her instead, but he can feel every muscle of his body locked down tightly, just waiting to be told to move, to come. He can hear her continue to speak as the roar of that wave grows around him, his mind trying to process the sounds of her speech, hearing nothing but the faint increase to Garak’s breathing as he keeps his eyes trained on Julian. _Why… you want me… why stop… why…_ Of course he knows why. Of course Julian Bashir Chief Medical officer standing in ops during a catastrophic situation on Deep Space Nine understands intellectually _why_ Garak is keeping him at bay. Of course that higher mind understand, accepts, prays that they make it through this entire situation without casualty. But it isn’t that higher self that’s in control. If anything it’s that self being dragged back to hell by the beast that dwells in the abyss, by that primitive DNA sequencing, ribboned around his own human chromosomes like a damn viral envelope. _Alpha there… want… need… please…_

Twelve hours… That’s all the time remaining in the world. That’s all it understands, twelve hours until death and where he might understand that’s twelve hours to regain the station, that sexual slave, that _Omega_ only understands there are twelve hours left _in the entire universe_ for a successful coupling. _God you can’t be… Three years, it’s been three years you stupid_ _stupid_ _little chromosomes, you’re male he’s male there will_ _never_ _be a successful coupling!_ Julian can feel his respirations increasing, can feel that sweat down the side of his neck, underneath the fabric of the universe as he tries and will that halting finger down. He doesn’t speak. He knows not to speak while It’s up, while it silences him, and the moment that Garak begins to talk, straining to sound composed, Juilan is hyperfocused, waiting for that command, waiting for Garak to-

“Believe me Major, It’s the only way to save those people...” Another swallow, eyes turning from Julian to something off behind him. Julian clasps his hands tightly behind his back wringing, nails digging into the backs of his hands as if the pain might bring him back to at least an illusion of his normal self. And then Garak drops that hand thoughtlessly, pointing to some console. “I believe life support is controlled from over there.”

He dropped the hand. Julian swallows, inhaling, nearly swallowing his tongue in the process as his hands come up, hiding his face, another attempt to try and keep himself under control. He feels his knees lock, knowing that he has to keep fighting it. _Hand dropped… come… now… Yes!_ Garak closes that distance, hands on his shoulders, Julian knowing that his body is working overtime, secreting, sweating, wanting, but knowing to keep his hands to himself. _Touching is a privilege…_ Garak’s words echo, always echoing when Julian wants to climb him, rub his scent on him, bathe in that growing Cardassian musk. Julian isn’t yet to the point where that conditioning fails. He sees Garak looking past him, a sharp bark of “down” reaching his ears, legs giving before he thinks to question. There’s phaser fire above but he barely notices it. Garak is on him. Garak is on top of him heavy weight pressing his back to the ground as the console explodes, as that _control_ explodes. Julian’s arms go automatically above his head wrists crossing, legs twisting, squirming until his knees hug Garak’s waist and he tips his hips feeling that press, feeling the hard draw of breath as Garak’s attention remains focused to something that’s _not him_ as the lights go off.

There’s another voice in that darkness but it has no meaning to him. “Warning counterinsurgency program level two has been Interrupted… “ It has no meaning until- “two hours until…” That’s what catches his attention. That’s when he hears a gasp from Garak. That’s when he sees those blue eyes pupils dilated, elongated slightly in the center like the eyes of a hungry snake. _Yes… yesplease… notime…_  That twelve hours has been cut down to nothing. They only have two hours… two hours to mate, to satisfy that urge, that fear of death ramping the animal up as it never has before.

“Two hours? They surely didn’t account for the time a man of your years needs to fully evert himself.” The words. Garak likes the words. Words, taunting teasing promising words like that. That’s what excites him. That’s what Julian needs to do. That’s what Julian does. And  the way Garak’s nostrils flare, the way his lips are parted, looking down at him, breathing hard, the way his hands clamp around Julian’s wrists slamming them hard to the floor he may as well have spoken the filthiest come on imaginable.

“Should I met any of them in the afterlife, I’ll be sure to pass along your pointed protest. Perhaps, my dear, you might put your years of medical training and expertise to better use than the seduction of one aging Cardassian Tailor and check on the Lieutenant’s injury.” Garak doesn’t let go even as he chastises him. He squeezes tighter, He presses his hips forward, Julian feeling that pressure against his furious fully hard cock. “Focus,” Garak hisses at him, seeming to be saying that as much to himself as Julian. He forces himself to let go, holding that finger up again for Julian to stay as he extracts himself. Garak carefully steps back once, twice, that finger lowering, Julian sitting up, watching only him. _Focus…_ He _is_ focused. He’s focused on Garak, but he puts his hands back, taking another breath, understanding, as he tears his attention away that he needs to. _Jad…zia… right… doctor… stupid do your damn job…_ Julian bows his head, exhaling, slowly pushing off the ground, turning away from everyone watching him.

“Is this what you’ve been doing to him this whole time?” he hears Kira practically growl to Garak.

“I assure you Major, I’ve very little choice in the matter but I’m afraid I don’t have the time to regale you with all the sordid details... And right now as much as I’d love nothing more than to give into these insidious Spoonhead lusts as I’ve heard some Bajorans around the station cache them, I’d much prefer to see us through this unfortunate incident alive and unscathed.”

Julian shakes his head, mortification at the situation warring with that insistent need to shove through every last one of them trying to keep him from his… _Focus!_

“I…” Julian’s throat is dry, the speech difficult to manage when it’s not that heat driven imperative taking the reins. “I’m sorry for this… Lieutenant…” he walks backwards, blindly feeling searching for his kit as he does so that he can at least continue first aid treatment. _Right. You can do this… breath in… out… not so close to him…._ Though he has little choice in Ops; he can sense Garak, smell him, every bit of that desire making him practically shake as he kneels in front of Jadzia, hunched over to try and hide that evidence of his arousal. “Sorry,” he rasps as he takes her hand. He ignores the fact that everyone else on the bridge has given him as wide a berth as they can. Julian licks his lips anxiously, cringing at the empathic smile she gives him.

“Its fine Julian,” she assures him, looking over to Garak working at her terminal. Julian redoubles his focus on her hand. Nothing but her hand. Skin, layers, Epidermis, Dermis, tissue, blood, nerves…

“Any luck?” Kira asks Garak with a sigh, to Julian’s relief looking resigned to shelving what promises to be a rather interesting dressing down for a later time. Julian looks down, realizing that he’s done all that he can and there’s no possible way he can draw this out any longer.

“I can’t… I can’t do much else,” he says, starting to twine fingers around the neck of the uniform, clutching it tightly. He tries to fan himself as he stands up looking for the darkest corner that he can stand away from everyone else.

“You’re fine, Julian,” Jadzia assures him and he can see the concern. He sees it when he looks at Kira as well and he isn’t quite sure how he feels about that. It’s hot. It’s getting hotter. Whether that’s the life support systems, his nerves or… something else though…  

“Plenty,” he hears Garak answer, attuned, honed back to that voice, looking at him again as that wave comes crashing to the shore fast, violent, burying him. “Unfortunately all of it’s bad.”

“Julian…” Jadzia warns reaching for him. He dances out of the way, staggering to where Garak is seated, hearing his voice. _Voice… you…need…_ Julian catches another warning look from Garak. He needs to stop. He can’t come any closer. But he can see that warning in those eyes dying down as Garak speaks to Kira, not taking his eyes off Julian. He looks at Julian’s neck. Julian knows how Garak loves to put his mouth on his neck. How he loves to bite that delicate human skin, put his hand around it, squeeze until Julian’s eyes flutter closed, gasping, coming hard and… And Julian tilts his head as he approaches, tilting his head, subtly, showing that neck, that skin, Garak’s eyes watching it, forgetting to tell him to be still, to be good, not to move. “The only person who can disable the security program is Gul Dukat,” Garak says as Julian circles behind him not touching, very careful not to touch. His hands take hold of the back of the seat as he pushes against it with a squirm.

“Are you saying that Gul Dukat would be more _capable_ than you in this situation?”

“Dukat has his uses,” Garak answers and Julian can sees his fingers start to curl to fists. “But his… _capabilities_ and mine are hardly comparable where it matters.”

Julian lets go of the chair slowly stalking around, head bowed, breathing hard. He knows that Garak can sense how badly he needs this. He can smell Garak’s own desire, can almost taste it just like a Cardassian, a flick of his tongue to that air around him making him pant harder. _No time… needplease…_

“Julian!” Kira barks his name now snapping his head up and he wishes he could make her _understand_. He thinks Jadzia is talking to Garak now. He nods his head furiously. Taking a step back from the seat, looking up at the ceiling, the dark. He’s too close but he can’t seem to move any further away.

“Please…” Julian breathes out to that stifling air around him. He bends over, hands on his knees, trying to regulate his breaths as they talk about… about… the sensor? Something? His head is too foggy to concentrate until he hears it. That voice, that tone, Garak asking Jadzia if she eats breakfast and his head snaps up his entire body a bowstring drawn back as he wildly looks between the two of them.

                “Breakfast?” She asks and Julian thinks he might stare a hole right through the both of them as he reaches up again tugging on the hot uniform that just won’t _breathe_.

“My lunch calendar is currently full and they do say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. However it seems my lunches may free themselves from my domineering despotic grip after all.” Garak doesn’t need to look at him for Julian to sense that cutting dig. It only makes him need Garak all the more badly. 

“I know you’re not going to leave me hanging when you need  those… lunches just as badly as I do,” Julian growls at him.

“Do I?” Garak murmurs with such offhanded disinterest that Julian can feel panic seize him, can feel that takeover that need. _No never... never leave... please..._

“Can you disable the sensors?” Julian asks to the back of Garak’s head in one fleeting moment of clarity vicious pushed aside again. He needs them all to get away, to leave, to leave them both _alone._

Julian hears some faint something about the bulkheads as Garak begins working, dismissing him, making him bring a hand up, biting his finger hard, sucking in a wet breath as that darkness continues to exacerbate his need, his sense of smell. But it’s the heat that’s the worst. He can feel his cock bunched in his underwear beneath the uniform straining, as he puts a hand behind his back so as not to shame himself by rubbing, by putting his palm to that ache to try and relieve it. It won’t relieve. He knows that. _Need Alpha…_ That’s what he needs. That’s what Garak needs and he knows beyond all reason that he needs Garak to give it to him.  

“Garak…” Julian exhales hard around those fingers. He knows his voice climbs an octave, near begging. Garak doesn’t leave him hang. Never. Not this long, not like this. If they were alone. If it were just the two of them he would have already taken him. He’d have already pushed him over the console, already held his head back, held his hips, pushed the breath from his body and-

“Not now, Julian,” clipped, more like an entreaty itself underlying that harsh command as Garak’s fingers fly over the keys hard at work.

“I can’t imagine what use it is for a _tailor_ trying to save us. I don’t think entering the Commander’s inseam is going to avert a crisis, do you?”

“You’d be surprised what a few good measurements… what a few good strokes can achieve, my dear.”

“Do you really think that your skillset is up to par, Garak?”

“Perhaps it is not my skillset in question so much as your _patience_ , Julian. Consider perhaps the edge on which you now dance, that need, that ache just beneath the surface so close, the longer you wait, the more you need, that anticipation building to a fever pitch until you cannot stand it and then…” Garak trails off, Julian hanging off his every soft spoken work nearly falling over when he stops, noticing that Garak’s fingers haven’t stopped moving over the console. If anything they’re moving faster, the speed, the skill of those hands making him bit his lip, want to clamp a hand over them and-

“Down,” Garak says suddenly, two fingers raised in between frantic typing blink fast, and Julian obeys with a drop, knees hitting the floor perhaps painfully, but he hardly notices. “Here… Guls I can smell you, you licentious little hominid…” is whispered breath soft and Julian crawls to him immediately. “Under here…”

“You cannot be serious!” Julian hears from Kira and feels that Garak is tense, but _God_ he can taste that arousal, that sex as he shoves himself into that small space head buried between those legs, between those strong thighs, his mouth to the source of that heady desire and he can feel where he couldn’t before the  

“It might be more appropriate to direct any censure to Gul Dukat, Major. The subroutines keep asking for constant authentication and it’s all I can do to keep up _especially_ with our delightfully depraved doctor in these rather unique circumstancesss...” There’s an extra sibilance to that last word as Julian presses, feeling even through that thick fabric what Garak cannot help to hide any longer.

Julian can feel the push of that hard thick cock pressing to his face as he mouths it, as he breaths out hot, warm, knowing that just that fabric separates his mouth from tasting him. _Moreyespleaseneed…_ he can’t think anymore. He can’t process. It’s so close, it’s too close and he wants it, he _needs_ it. His hands fumble with the fastenings, muscle memory taking over, his face moving just enough to accommodate them. On his knees Julian bounces, shakes, the faster he works the sooner he can taste it. And as soon as the velour like fabric is moved aside he can see the strain increase, that large head pushing that thin cotton out already soaking the fabric, getting bigger, harder the more he breaths over it. Julian puts his mouth to that bulge and sucks, tasting that slick wet with a moan. He can feel the faint buck of Garak’s hips, feeling that iron control wavering  And not just that, he sees the open fly front, that style that Garak only usually wears when he’s ready for him. At these times when he wants to be able to take Julian any time anywhere. That should annoy him. That should bother him, he knows in some back corner there’s an indignity knowing that Garak now plans his wardrobe around Julian’s cycles as he if owns him, but on his knees hurriedly parting the fabric, hands trembling as he shifts on his knees, it doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be obstinate now. That desire doesn’t exist. _More…_ That’s the driving desire- to please the one that can give him what he needs.

He doesn’t linger, he doesn’t hover his mouth coyly as he might with a true lover. Julian has considered that in some darker part of his mind, in moments of lucidity when he’s lain awake at night, what such a thing might be like. He’s wondered when he’s felt restless- the sort of normal human restless that can be settled by taking himself in hand- what it might be like to go to Garak without that mindless drive. He’s wondered how it might feel to look in his eyes, to tease, to bite the inside of his thigh and make him squirm. He’s considered whether he could break that control without that biological drive, without chemistry, with nothing but himself. Julian also knows on some intellectual level that those thoughts too aren’t born from himself but rather the insinuation of that DNA, of that foreign invader encroaching upon every aspect of himself. He has to keep reminding himself of that because if he doesn’t, he’s terrified that he’ll forget. He’s forgotten all of that now as he feels Garak’s cock hitting the back of his throat, his head turning so he can take as much as that length in before it fills his throat so thick that he chokes. 

“Level 4 security triggered.” There’s a distant part of Julian that hears those words and considers them only fitting for what’s come to be known as the undeniable, unequivocal, worst day of his life. Julian has no idea, how true that thought is about to be.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Level 4 Security triggered; one guess who shows up next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping it short. That dubious moral ethical warning; here she be. The smut... is totally coming soon! The plot-y stuff turned out longer than I was expecting. I already had this half started so it got a bit of an early update. Thanks to tinsnip and Vyc for their awesome Cardassian dictionary that helped me cobble together the made up word here. Anyway, the scene is officially set so thank you everyone for reading and of course C&C is always welcome.

“Level 4 security triggered.” Those are the words Garak hears when time runs out. There’s some perverse part of him that’s relieved that he can stop messing with the console, that he can let his hands drop to Julian’s head, that he can twist fingers in short hair and thrust into that dirty human mouth as deep and as hard as he desires. That thought lasts only as long as it takes the replicator to activate and produce a phaser that immediately begins firing at everyone in Ops. Garak’s reactions are dulled. Under any other circumstances he would’ve already been moving, been thinking of the next solution, of the next series of variables in this monstrous scenario. But he hasn’t been. Julian hasn’t either, but there _is_ the unique and unusual condition of his causing that uncharacteristic disregard for the life of everyone there. It’s caused a disregard for anything but Garak’s prick in his mouth which might be quite enjoyable under different circumstances- _Oh who are you kidding, it’s still enjoyable- that’s exactly the problem._ That problem being that Garak is also effected by that heat of Julian’s. That scent, that tangible tang of arousal contagious like Pottrick Syndrome. And not just the olfactory, but the visual as well.Those long fingers splayed on the insides of Garak’s thighs, pushing them apart so that he can work is- _Well now that’s unfortunate…_

Garak catches just out of the corner of his eye as one of the Starfleet officers is incinerated by the phaser and only _then_ is he shocked into enough action to yell for Julian to get down again. The fact that Julian interprets that bark as an order to throw himself on his knees presenting his backside doesn’t help matters. Garak throws himself on top of him, half dragging them both beneath the console as best as he can. Julian pants in response and continues that wriggle; it makes it almost impossible for Garak to think clearly. And the damnation of it is that he wants it. He _needs_ it just as badly as Julian, everted, hard, wet, that shock of adrenaline only spurring him on that much harder to drive it in. And he considers it. He seriously Guls damn considers it. _Could they really think any less of you at this point, Elim? You already ordered him to pleasure you under the console in the midst of this insanity and if Major Kira doesn’t already think that Julian’s predicament is something that you’ve taken evil insidious Cardassian advantage of…_

Okay, so that last part perhaps isn’t entirely a lie, but he’d certainly like to see any of those proselytizing Starfleet  or Bajoran hypocrites make a different choice in his identical circumstances. _They won’t see anything anyway. Five minutes... ten minutes… He’ll want you to drill him all night if he has his way about it but at least that would offer some reprieve. That might satisfy him enough to be halfway back in his right mind._ At least that’s what Garak tells himself as his fingers reach up for that zipper on the back of the Starfleet Uniform.

“Please…” Oh, that please. That completely beyond any foreplay teasing mood setting “please” nearly makes him groan. Perhaps he does. There’s enough of a conflagration that he very well might be panting with his mouth slack as badly as Julian is. He’s only dimly aware, now that he’s out of the line of fire, of what everyone else is saying. For all he knows that phaser has blasted someone else into atoms while he’s tugging the zipper caught on some loose thread. It nearly makes him rip the entire offensive garment off. Julian pushes back against him again and turns his head giving a delightfully degrading rub of his face to the hard cold floor. Garak revels perversely at the sight of the vaunted Julian Bashir laying beneath him, writhing, begging to be mounted like an animal. _Yes, five minutes... just five Guls damned minutes..._

“Let me guess… someone tried to duplicate my access code.” _No. It could not_ _possibly_ _be…_ Garak stills that motion, the zipper halfway down, a lance of ice through him. He notes that Julian’s undershirt already is sweat soaked and clinging to his back.

“Dukat what the are you doing here?” Garak hears Major Kira shouting at him and under any other circumstance it would be enough to completely crush that need, that arousal. But of course, these are most certainly _not_ normal circumstances and he can hear Julian redoubling that frantic pleading, not understanding why it is that Garak has stopped. Those boots walk heavily around Ops. Garak’s hand is still on that zipper, still automatically tugging down one millimeter at a time thinking that he needs to tug it right back _up_ and take care to fix his own clothing. His mind is a whirl as Dukat blathers on about the chain of events which brought him here. That quirky hand of fate that seems to govern Garak’s life as well in some sadistic fashion. The footfalls grow more distant, Garak breathing slowly, that small space, the heat of Julian’s body making his hips rock involuntarily. He ducks his head with a soft groan to Julian’s neck. Garak pushes. He pushes again, another buck of his hips, an eager whine back from Julian meeting it. He almost cringes. No matter how poor Cardassian hearing may be, if Julian gets too loud there’s no explaining this in any manner that will salvage his crumbling dignity.

“I see the self destruct program has begun. You _are_ in trouble,” Dukat gloats in characteristic fashion before beginning to drone on about Commander Sisko. Garak shoves two fingers in Julian’s mouth. That of course, was not the original intent, the intent was a hand _over_ his mouth but right now quiet is quiet. Garak finally musters enough self control to wrench his hand off the zipper of Julian’s uniform just as it reached the end of its course at the small of his back. But Julian’s tongue works, his mouth teases, urging him to play this little game. Garak complies in spite of his better judgment, feeding him those fingers which Julian lathes, sucks, slurps. _Quiet. You’re just keeping his quiet. By the State, tell yourself that a few more times and you might even start to believe it._ Garak plays with that tongue back, bringing himself to an even greater aching hardness. Perhaps Garak might chose this moment to convert and beg the Prophets to suck Dukat into some infinite swirling vortex where he can spend an eternity hearing nothing but his own self aggrandizing speeches. Garak jams his fingers in deeper, in frustration, feeling the hitch of Julian’s body, not certain if he’s choking or climaxing. Either image doesn’t help.

Oh it helps the _noise_ , certainly. What it _doesn’t_ help is that push back, that shift of long legs as Julian scrambles to give him exactly what he thinks Garak desires. He’s hardly off the mark. Julian shutting his eyes with that high hot flush to his face sorely tempts to Garak just say the hell with it and pound him hard enough to make Julian scream his name without care for who hears him. He’s rarely had cause in his life to curse the immediacy, the vivid recollection of Cardassian memory but their current position is certainly giving it to him. There are no less than several dozen interlaid recollections of Julian’s writhing body, of Julian throwing himself back onto Garak’s prick while Garak remains still marveling, reveling in that mindless loss of control. He can _taste_ him as well. As always he can taste that musk, not just that sex starved sweet salty secretion that he can suck off Julian’s feverish skin, but the air itself is thick and heavy. Every breath makes his legs tremble. Every flick of his tongue out, even to wet his suddenly parched lips, only drives home just how badly that little _vine’Uja_ needs it. Yes, that’s the word exactly. Garak would be hard pressed to think of another word that translates properly in Federation standard and every equivalent he’s attempted to create with Julian in his normal state has never gone over well. “Bitch” in particular- if one were keeping score- went over about as well as the Occupation. As for a literal translation of the word... _No, “low born seed receptacle” doesn’t quite have the same ring in Federation Standard. A pity, translator really misses the nuance of the possession, a million other particulars that Julian wouldn’t understand anyway._

There’s some other exchange between Dukat and Major Kira ending in another blast of phaser fire that Garak frankly couldn’t care less about right now if he tried. He is aware, as is she, that Dukat is their one chance on this station, but Dukat is the last thing that he wants to think about right now. That is until those boots start his way again and he at least manages to yank his fingers from Julian’s lovely mouth to try and mitigate some of the debauchery of what one would surely behold coming over them. He cannot imagine the sight he must present, one hand on Julian’s hip, straddling him, the two of them likely resembling two hounds in heat. He supposes he could try and move but at this point it would be more of a spectacle to disengage; again, like two hounds knotted together in some primitive mating ritual. Tolan once advised a spray of bitter root to keep a good stud from wasting his seed... By the Ancients _why_ is he thinking of that now?! Perhaps, Garak thinks trying to calm himself, if he remains like this there’s at least a chance that he can avoid shaming himself further.

He hears another blast of phaser fire- it had gone quiet while Dukat was making himself at home with a cup of tea- and surely enough it would seem the plucky Lieutenant Dax was attempting to check the defenses of the system.

“Lieutenant…” Dukat’s smug tone annoys him and he lifts his head just enough so it doesn’t _quite_ appear that he and Julian are frantically trying to merge into one being.

“Stay,” he hisses to Julian, another whisper, another protest, Julian’s hands curling into the floor, knowing that he cannot touch Garak without that express permission. That doesn’t mean that he needs to be still. Even silent he undulates with his head slightly back, and Garak knows by that motion that he’s pressing that obscene human length against the floor, seeking relief by whatever means necessary. That image, like a million others, is also not helping Garak’s composure.

“What do you want, Dukat?” Garak hears Major Kira ask that and he decides that he might as well chance trying to somehow tuck himself back into his clothes as painful as that’s going to be.

“You’ll find I don’t respond well to that tone of voice, Major,” comes the voice over the top of the console and Garak has the sinking feeling that he’s missed his chance.

“And what do we have here? Perhaps Garak groveling in a corner?” Dukat feigns a gasp. “Taking the opportunity to assault Doctor Bashir in the midst of a crisis. How very like you, Garak. Ah, the sight of you on the floor, trying to stuff your shame back into your pants more than makes this trip worthwhile.”

Garak just barely resists the urge to growl at him, surprised at that savage internalization. _Oh of course it has to be_ _him_ _, Elim._ He swallows down a grunt of discomfort as that terribly sensitive everted length is unceremoniously thrust back behind velour and cotton in a nasty little ball. He catches the obvious flare of Dukat’s nostrils, as if the oblivious cretin didn’t pick it up earlier. The entirety of Ops is full of it, and as those beady little pupils narrow, he has half a mind to irrationally lunge at him. Garak is standing up growling at Julian to stay down before he even realizes it. It’s insane, really. He’s well aware after such recklessness that he could very well join ensign Paradis on his way to the other side- which now that he thinks about it means that those alterations are just going to sit unpaid collecting dust. But that attack doesn’t come and Garak realizes that the system wasn’t built to target Cardassians. Dukat seems to notice it as well as his eyes start flickering between Garak and Julian. Garak takes a step forward lest he get any ideas, glancing at the phaser in the replicator poised to attack anyone else.

“A shame, Dukat. It would seem you won’t have the pleasure of being rid of me that easily,”

“If you’d been on this station at the time I would’ve made sure to set it for targeting you as well.”

“You’ve always been shortsighted,” Garak fires back nastily. “It’s held you back over the years. As I recall, your father had the same flaw.”

“My father’s only flaw was trusting you,” Dukat answers him with a dangerous look. Dukat has always been one for posturing, but there is an aggression in that stance as he draws himself up that Garak can sense as he too looks down to Julian.

“Funny, at his trial, your father said his biggest flaw was that his ambition outweighed his patriotism.” Garak’s voice drops lower as he fixates on Julian possessively. He recognizes the irrationality, of course. He’s not so far gone that he cannot see how ridiculous that this is. That still doesn’t stop the desire to tear Dukat’s throat out with his teeth. Then again, Garak imagines the line of men and women who share that sentiment to be several kilometers long; no pheremone induced rage needed

“Maybe you two should settle this another time!”  Now _that_ grounds his murderous desire back to reality. At least it reminds him for the moment that there are others present and that he needs to calm himself.

“You’re right, Major,” Dukat answers thickly. “And believe me, Garak, that time is coming.” He’s stepped closer. Garak is about to retort snappily back when he feels Julian shift. He doesn’t understand what’s going on at first when he sees Julian on his knees suddenly sitting back, looking up past him to Dukat, eyes bright and wide. And then Garak knows _exactly_ what is going on. Even with nothing more than the reluctant little tidbits that Julian’s shared with him, he can piece the logical cause together easily enough. _Well of course from a purely biological standpoint a younger arguably more physically fit specimen might be the optimal choice. Although it isn’t as if you’re past your prime, Elim, far from it. It’s that stupid primitive self that doesn’t seem to realize... It’s nothing_ _personal_ _, you know that._ Still, he cannot help the irrational affront he feels when Julian turns the full force of that lustful gaze to Gul Dukat. If it were anyone else he might almost feel bad for them. Their shared biology leaves them uniquely vulnerable to that heat which seems to do little else but repulse the remainder of the station. Add to that Julian on his knees, looking up, a hand around his neck accentuating that long enticing column, covered in sweat, panting, begging for it and there’s little chance for resistance. For a man with even conventional restraint it would be a difficulty. But for an amoral hedonist like Dukat...

“And speaking of what you’ve got coming Garak,” Dukat steps around him looking down at Julian not even attempting to hide that leer. “I take it this here is the reason for your embarrassing indiscretion.” He reaches down, pausing only when Garak’s voice clipped and strained half hisses at him.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you, Dukat. Doctor Bashir is not exactly in his right mind right now, and whatever you’re thinking I promise you that Starfleet will _not_ look kindly on an egregious assault on one of its officers.”

“Assault?” Dukat scoffs, petting Julian’s head like he would a dog. “You see how he likes it, Garak? Perhaps he’s merely starved for the touch of a _real_ man.” Garak’s lips are tight, a thin line, knowing that there’s only so much that he can divulge for Julian’s own sake. He doubts Dukat would understand the science or care even if he did.

“Yess…” he hears Julian breathe out, infuriated that Dukat would dare take such familiarities with what is clearly _not_ his, and terribly inflamed by that breathy tone at the same time.

“You’re disgusting, Dukat,” Garak hears Kira practically spit at him. “Do you think anyone in their right mind would want your hands on them?”

“Maybe you don’t understand humans, Major Kira. Maybe that’s been my issue with Commander Sisko. I haven’t taken a firm enough hand with him.” _I’d like to see you try._ Garak thinks to himself with a snort.

“That isn’t normal human behavior, Dukat!” He hears Lieutenant Dax’s voice and he considers whether either of them can reach the phaser on the table. Somehow he doubts it. And even so, the infuriating fact remains that Dukat is the one holding all the leverage with the timer counting perilously down and their options for salvation pitifully short.

“Oh don’t let that air of innocence fool you, Lieutenant,” Garak says cheerfully. “Dukat is well aware of what he’s doing.” He looks at Dukat again wearing a smile that could freeze a man’s blood. “As he’s equally aware of our positions here.” Garak swallows hard as he tries to consider any alternative than what is very clearly about to become an unforgivable bargaining chip.

“So help me Dukat, if you even _think_ about laying a hand on him…” Kira snarls echoing his sentiments exactly. Garak really could kiss her right now.

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Major?” Dukat brays like an ass as Garak considers the phaser and carefully measures whether Julian’s dignity is worth the lives of the entire station. _Yes, Julian’s dignity, how noble of you Elim. And how concerned for his dignity were you when you took him that first time? When you suggested he let you bend him over his own desk, when you made him crawl after you on his hands and knees? What you should be saying to yourself is whether or not allowing Dukat to lay his hands on your precious pet is worth the lives of the entire station._ Well either way it ought to be completely unacceptable.   

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?” Kira answers so sweetly that Garak doesn’t doubt such an action would be met with a knife blade to the genitals. He really wishes that Dukat would comply.

“I’m sure he would love to Major,” Garak answers pointedly, “But as you might imagine a man with his myriad of charms could not possibly stay unattached for long. Our great Gul Dukat is a _married_ man, after all.” Garak practically spits that last bit at him like a rock being aimed precision with a slingshot. Yes, Dukat is far easier to direct that anger to than himself.

Dukat spares him a brief, withering look, a dangerous crack in that genial mask. Well if it comes to blows Garak certainly isn’t about to play fair. The eyes. He’s definitely going to go for those lecherous eyes that are back to undressing Julian’s shaking body.

“Perhaps instead of worrying about your _pet_ you might consider that the station only has an hour and forty five minutes until it self destructs. And here I am,” Dukat declares grandly. “A few keystrokes from being your savior.”

“How could I have possibly forgotten…” Garak starts to say, watching intently as Dukat moves that hand, raising it like he would training a beast. He’s about to scream at Julian to get back down. He’s even about to block Julian’s body with his own, but much to everyone’s shock, the phaser doesn’t fire on him. Garak files that away knowing that now he _absolutely_ needs to get to the bottom of the mystery of Julian’s genetic makeup. But for now that relief that Julian isn’t going to be blasted into atoms wars with something else entirely as Julian follows that gesture, standing up, hands climbing up Dukat’s chest as he does. 

“Yes, you do have him trained well, don’t you?”

“I don’t think I need to tell you the danger you just put a Starfleet Officer in for the sake of your silly posturing. Perhaps I’ll command him to bite you next.”

“I don’t think he’d listen to you right now, Garak. As a matter of fact, I don’t think he has much of a care for that phaser as well, as much as he desires me.” Dukat barely pays Garak any attention, instead clearly enjoying Julian’s pressing into his hip as he clamors for that raised hand. Garak’s beginning to regret relying on those gestures so heavily to teach him to behave.

“Might our… savior, kindly tell us his surely magnanimous terms for coming to our rescue?” Garak watches as Julian’s eyes finally dart to him, a brief glimmer of recognition. He almost looks like he wants to say something, taking a breath, before quickly turning away. Garak can’t even begin to fathom what’s going through his head. Dukat has dropped that hand deciding to gently stroke under Julian’s chin eliciting a soft deep purr as those hands paw back at his chest. Julian has learned quite quickly that the no touch rule doesn’t apply to the new end exciting stranger; the new and exciting stranger in fact is doing little more than hungrily undressing Julian’s body with his eyes while he pretends to consider Garak’s question. Clearly Dukat has no intention of trying to exercise any common decency in this situation.  Garak decides he’s going to start with his left eye. He’ll enjoy allowing Dukat to watch him crush it beneath his grip before he puts out the other one.

“I had initially thought to demand control of the station be relinquished to Cardassian command-“ That’s interrupted with a loud scoff from Major Kira. “But I seem to have found something much more… enticing.” 

“You don’t say,” Garak can imagine peeling the sharp smile from his face and slicing Dukat’s throat with it. Surely, that’s the cause for the red that’s tinting his vision right now. It couldn’t possibly be Garak seeing Dukat’s thumb brush Julian’s lower lip. Nor could it be the fact that Julian licks it with his eyes half closed and another breathy moan. Garak’s sure that’s not it, just as he’s sure he hasn’t just had a spontaneous brain hemorrhage watching Dukat’s other hand already easing the uniform from Julian’s shoulder. 

“Oh yes… Yes,  just _that_ look alone, Garak makes the thought of taking your little _vine’Uja_ worth a thousand Terok Nors.”

“At the risk of sounding cliché, Dukat-” Garak grits out with as much pleasantry as he has left in him.

“Like hell you will!” Garak’s smile is tight as he hears that interruption from Kira.

“You took the words right out of my mouth, Major.”

“There’s no way you’ll get away with this, Dukat,” This from Jadzia, the pain still lancing through her voice. “And if you think Benjamin or Starfleet, or any of us will let this go unpunished…”

“Such strong words,” Dukat admonishes, “Surely, we can ask Doctor Bashir what he’d like to do can’t we?”

“What?” Garak sees Julian’s eyes blink as if he might actually be lucid enough to tell Dukat just where he can go and what he can do to himself when he gets there. “What do I…” No, he hardly sounds it, Garak thinks, just barely keeping his expression from turning unpleasant. _No, you know he can adapt, he can mimic anything when he’s in that state whether he wants to or not. You know you can’t ask him anything, he won’t tell you anything useful, he’ll tell you whatever he needs to in order to get you to take him and little else. And that’s when he’s not too far gone to talk at all._

“You _cannot_ ask Doctor Bashir, Dukat, because Doctor Bashir, as anyone can clearly see is _not_ able to consent to anything you might ask of him.” Garak’s voice is soft, honey sweet as he speaks that statement, as he attempts to make a final appeal to Dukat’s dwindling sense of reason. And he is aware on some bizarre visceral level that it is _not_ the reaction that Julian needs in this state to let go of the oily refuse that he’s currently clinging to. No, he’s sure that the sight of him and Dukat rolling around on the floor in some primitive fight over mating rights is the only way to settle this in that odd reptilian brain to the current Julian’s satisfaction. But Garak at his core, is nothing if not a civilized creature. A civilized, calculating creature who is beginning to see that the only way out of this might very well be that unthinkable blow to his ego... _Yes, because your ego is far more important than Julian’s bodily autonomy._ He drags that thought out to the desert to die.

Julian’s look to him, that disappointed expectation that no, he’s not going to throw down the gauntlet and charge is the first thing that’s almost enough to make him rethink that course of action. Dukat’s thoughtless pawing from his shoulder, around the small of his back is the second. Dukat’s mouth, whispering that question like a lover instead of a morally bankrupt rapist is the third. Garak takes a step back, subtly moving towards that phaser. Surely there will be enough of Dukat’s DNA remaining once he stuns and eviscerates him to make something work. There’s an almost maniacal smile on Garak’s face at the thought of that. And Julian is doing a perfect job of holding Dukat’s attention. Disgustingly so, but Garak can’t allow himself to think overly long on Julian’s tongue hanging out of his mouth, panting at the breathy heat to his neck. He can see that face looking at him over Dukat’s shoulder as his eyes shut and Julian nods dumbly, deliriously, almost ecstatic at whatever filth clothed in Dukat’s idea of romantic entreaty that Dukat is whispering to him. Garak can’t hear it anyway. Major Kira has maintained a spirited protest as cover for his actions and it drowns out nearly everything else. 

Garak is close to the phaser. He can feel it. A few more steps a reach and- And he sees Julian looking at him over Dukat’s shoulder once more. That shouldn’t mean much of anything. Julian gasping his most hated enemy’s name in passion isn’t a thing that he has cause to pay attention to; but that’s not what Julian is doing. Oh certainly there is that element present, but that isn’t all that Garak observes. Julian’s mouth is moving and though Garak cannot hear him he can make out the words spoken not to Dukat, but to _him_. “ _What... do...”_ _What should I do... What do you want him to do, Elim?_ Well that’s simple enough; it starts with Julian’s forehead into Dukat’s nose and ends somewhere with Garak’s boot stomping him into the floor. But as that murderous thought passes, Garak experiences a moment of clarity watching Dukat push Julian back onto the console, whispering, talking- likely some boast about what he’s going to do any how many times. Garak clicks his tongue at that, curious to find that moment of clarity extended. And he knows as his motions have stopped toward that weapon that he’ll need to be quick about what he decides.

_Why did it stop? You can still scent it, you can still taste him, you still want him, but somehow there’s a shift in that phasing- whatever you might want to call it. A marvelous adaptation to ponder if in fact Julian’s biology really is so sophisticated as to allow some subconscious direction of that pheromone. Well, consider it later Elim because you’ve been presented with a rather rare opportunity._ He almost wonders bizarrely if Julian somehow is aware of that opportunity as well- of that chance which has presented itself that’s a boon far greater than one Starfleet station. _No. He couldn’t_ _possibly_ _. Julian has never possessed your cunning, not in that manner at least. There’s no way he could know... and yet here he asks you what you want him to do. Is that because that primal self still sees a hierarchy of possession? Again, consider that later. Consider only now what’s right in front of you. This needs to occur. Oh surely you could sit back and pray to the wormhole aliens once you incapacitate Dukat for some miracle, or you can consider in the abstract that Julian himself, being a self sacrificing good little Federation citizen would consider there to be no question of what is “right” if his actions no matter how loathsome might save the lives of everyone on the station._

_But it’s more than that, Elim and you know it. There’s simply allowing him to proceed quickly, succinctly, letting the deed be done here and now and seeing to his well being. Or there’s your second option. There’s the fact that the Commander’s Office like here also possesses the same security cameras and ones that are much more focused, an environment that would prove far more damning, a scenario that you can manipulate as you need to._ Garak licks his lips, seeing that those in Ops are now looking at him just as much as they are Julian being pushed against the console while lust tremored hands push the uniform off his shoulders entirely. _If you don’t act now, Elim, this is going to be quickly over and you’re going to have completely wasted the best opportunity you’re ever likely to get..._ Garak knows he doesn’t have any more time, just as he knows how this is going to look for him. _Will Julian loath the very sight of you? Quite possibly. Will it matter much once that requisition is received? Likely not. If you’re going to slink back to the shadows then let it be with Dukat’s life and honor in tow. If given a choice between valor and vengeance, Elim, which is it that you choose?_ Ah, what has Garak always chosen? 

He doesn’t look at anyone else as he steps forward, away from the phaser, clearing his throat as he observes that Dukat has quite handily divested Julian of that sweaty undershirt, the uniform pooled around his hips. Again there’s that urge to reach back for the phaser, though hardly with any noble intent. The sight of Julian’s body, of that damp heat fevered skin bared is so Guls damned tempting. But he shoves it down knowing that there will be time enough for that later. When the deed is done. Because Garak knows that just one, two, not even three hard violent joinings will satisfy that beast. Not in the desperate state Julian is in now, arms obediently over his head, legs spread, hips pushing like he just needs to- _Control, Elim._ And there follows a hush of silence as Garak clears his throat, getting Dukat’s attention, Kira, and the rest doubtlessly wondering if this isn’t part of some new plan he’s devised to save Julian from the clutches of the insidious Dukat. In a way it almost disappoints him that a Bajoran or anyone wouldn’t understand the value of self sacrifice for the greater good, but then again, Bajorans have always been stupidly high minded when it comes to matters of political leverage and careful long term maneuvering. Because this isn’t _just_ about vengeance. This is a matter of leverage at the heart of it. Important, calculating movements of the pieces on the board that he can use to his advantage later.

“You know Dukat, while I delight in a humiliating display as much as any man, for the sake of Doctor Bashir’s dignity, it might be in better taste to take such debauchery to a more intimate location.”

“Garak, what are you talking about?!” Major Kira’s yell is predictable and he tunes her out along with the cacophony of the other voices on the bridge, a din of irritating insects mating in the summer. He also catches window of some knowing censure from Lieutenant Dax and supposes there’s the beginning and end of any possible breakfast date there. But that can wait. Garak is careful not to appear too eager. He makes sure to keep that angry sullen expression for Dukat’s benefit as that laugh meets his ears. It’s not so terribly difficult.

“How uncharacteristically noble of you Garak!” Dukat compliments pausing, a hand still fisted in Julian’s short hair holding his head back. “Such consideration, such concern for the “doctor’s dignity”!” He laughs and Garak smiles in return, hands behind his back, clasped tightly together. “Or are you afraid of everyone seeing you bested? Of the world seeing you lack prowess the way that you lack courage?”

“By all means, if mindlessly spilling your seed into some human animal is the only way you can feel like a man Dukat-”

“ _Your_ human animal,” Dukat sneers in return.

“I had merely thought you might spare the ladies such an... invigorating display. I’ve always heard it better to save a little mystery for a woman,” Garak answers almost completely flatly. He’s about to try another tact, when he catches Julian looking at him again. _Right, you still need to tell him what to do, don’t you? It’s possible he might be too far gone to read your lips, but he’s a clever man, he’ll figure it out._ “Let go,” Garak mouths carefully, turning his head just a bit to the side. “Please him. Please me.” He keeps the words simple, feeling his jaw crack as he mouths them. Garak sees a double blink of understanding, and cannot dream that Julian is able to figure out what he’s to do beyond lay back and let Dukat do whatever the cursed Ancients command. But again, Julian surprises him. He fixes Dukat with a look, pleading, desperate, a push of his hips where Dukat stands between his spread legs. His eyes dart back and forth from Dukat to that office door and it’s almost frightening the way Julian reads the situation and responds.

“P... please... there...  I need... please...” Julian’s hand falls over Dukat’s wrist and Garak catches a whiff of that heat again, ablaze, enough to make him shut his eyes and softly count down lest he do something foolish.

Dukat however lacks that same control as he steps back with a low rumble, practically yanking Julian from the console to unsteady feet. Good. Let the cameras catch whatever debauchery Dukat is going to indulge in. Let them hear, let them see. Once the codes are entered to return the station to homeostasis, Garak knows there will be a short window that he’ll be able to break into the mainframe to copy those files. He won’t need long. He’s already recalling the sequences, bringing them to mind so that he’ll be able to break the system. There will be a lot of rewriting, reconfiguring, but not in those immediate moments of relief. No, better not to underestimate Odo on that count. Garak will have to be quick about it. He’ll have to somehow handle Julian well enough so that he won’t immediately follow but he can handle Julian. Garak knows exactly where he can store the information, who he can trust enough with the backup just in case. And then he’ll have all the time in the world to consider how best to use it. Julian won’t take any action, after all. If that alien DNA, that strange compulsion, doesn’t push this down to an almost unsettling indifference in the immediate aftermath as Julian’s described following their past encounters, Garak knows he’ll stoically accept this humiliation as the price paid for saving the station. He’ll likely insist they destroy any of the footage. And more the better for Garak in that instance because that will absolutely leave Dukat smug in the security that any evidence of what transpired will cease to exist. Until the moment that it doesn’t. And when that moment comes it will be Garak, alone, aggrieved, as always to-

Garak looks up sharply, seeing that Dukat is still standing there with Julian, looking at him with a nasty smirk, an arm around Julian’s shoulder that Garak has the urge to knock clear off. He has a feeling that he’s missed something terribly important.

“It seems I might have to repeat myself. My, Garak, you really _have_ grown soft in your retirement.” 

“If you’re not sure how to enter, Dukat, I’m sure that Doctor Bashir will only be all too happy to show you,” he says irritably as Julian mouths Dukat’s neck ridges softly, strangely never taking his eyes off Garak, almost as if he’s seeking his approval. Dukat’s laugh is an unsettling, dry sound that makes his eyes narrow. _Just what is he-_

“You didn’t think I was going to just run off and leave you here to continue your plotting, did you Garak?” Well, yes, as a matter of fact he _did_ think that considering that his plot hardly involves anything in the immediate future. Really, Dukat is so stupidly, annoyingly shortsighted. 

“Might I remind you, Dukat, that we only have a little less than two hours until the complete annihilation of the entire station. It might be meet to continue this discussion when time isn’t such a precious commodity.”

“Oh there will be time to discuss it, Garak,” Dukat promises with a triumphant tone that makes him immediately feel a sense of impending doom. “Because you’re going to be joining us.” 

Garak meets his expression with a smile of his own, tight, teeth grit behind it. He nods perfunctorily in agreement. 

“Ah. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that?” _Why indeed, Elim? I believe this is where Julian might use that delightfully vulgar human idiom that he’s so fond of when he thinks no one else is around. Well, fuck me, indeed._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian is fucked, both literally and figuratively

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Really not much to say except fucking and porn that some people will like and others won't. This may run to 6 chapters god it was only supposed to be 3... Anyway, added some tags for some choking sorta, ass to mouth, and a weird weird amount of Garak and Dukat snipping at each other while Julian's getting reamed. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to go for it! It's much appreciated. By me that is, not Julian, haha. And your comments as always are much welcome!

He’s not going to die. Julian finds that thought suddenly, with a strange clarity. A clarity that immediately alerts him to the reality of the situation. Alerts and then dismisses. If he could he might scream. But of course he can’t. He can’t seem to do anything but move his feet towards the door of Commander Sisko’s office with Gul Dukat’s hand pressed possessively to the small of his back. It seems that he feels Dukat’s hand sinking down into his skin, sealing itself around his spine and making him move one step after another with some jerky marionette motion towards his inexorable doom.  _Dramatic much, Julian?_ Again that clarity of thought unnerves him. Once he’s this far gone, once he’s started, he’s never left with this much conscious awareness of what’s happening. He almost half wonders if there’s any way to regain control of himself beyond mere thoughts. _Regain and then what?_ His enhanced brain processes anger and humiliation just as quickly as it does the reality of the situation; that being that his death- all of their deaths- have been diverted by the actions that he’s about to take.  _By the actions that you could’ve taken out there with everyone watching, that is if it weren’t for Garak. Right. Generous that._

But it isn’t, of course. Elim Garak is not kind. He is not generous. He is, perhaps if Julian were being honest with himself, grown to be more than merely a convenient end to a most inconvenient problem. He may even, if Julian were to be threatened with loss of life or limb, have become a friend, even more than that given the proper circumstances. But all that not withstanding, he is _Garak_. And being Garak, Julian knows that there’s always an ulterior motive, that there’s always some secondary plan working in that inscrutable Cardassian head of his. Under any other circumstances Julian might even attempt to ferret out that secret. But unfortunately for him that’s not possible. Not at all. That’s a strange realization that is almost implanted right into his head. Of course he’s retained his thoughts. Because he hasn’t fought it, he’s already decided to proceed, to allow. There’s a rather bitter irony there that he swallows down, thinking of all the times to have seen that the way to retain his sense of self was in fact surrender. _Ah, God, just bloody shoot me, why couldn’t you have asked those miserable sods who had the nerve to call themselves doctors for a damn instruction manual, father? Chapter one, getting to know your illegal genetic enhancements. Chapter two, don’t beat ‘em, join ‘em_. Because he knows that conscious is fleeting, that any action to the contrary of that genetic urge to submit, to bow, to beg, will surely result in any rational thought being tamped back down to nothing. It may very well play out that way in the end for all he knows and as they situate themselves awkwardly, he wonders if that wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

             _Why are you looking at me?_  Julian sees Garak’s eyes on him, aware that the Starfleet uniform is half hanging off. He wants to pull it right back up. _No, no you don’t anyway because it’s hot, you’re hot in here, you’ve been steadily burning up since this morning and-_ And just like that he wants to take it all off. That’s what Dukat wants. That may even be what Garak wants.  _Want me…_  Yes, that’s exactly what Julian wants right now, that thought neatly turned as easily a few swiftly altered lines of cerebral coding. It would be fascinating if he weren’t the subject of his very own nightmare sex thesis. He wants Garak to want him. He wants to turn back time and take a different assignment entirely, or even tell his well meaning, self serving father to go hang he’ll be just fine being a little bit slower than the rest. But here is where he is, and here he sees Garak still watching him almost warily. _Can you see it? Can you see that I’m-_ Julian opens his mouth to speak but finds that stick stuck in his throat, knowing that it will be all but useless. Not unless they’re words conducive to that drive, conducive to being mounted by the Alpha male staring him down with what Julian has come to know as Garak’s repressed calculated lust.

             _Stop looking at me…_  That’s what he wants to say. Because Garak doesn’t seem to realize that whatever secondary reaction Dukat’s proximity is causing, with the shift in the circumstance, it’s nothing compared to the memory of his body, to that visceral and immediate bodily imprint of Garak’s cock driving into him. It’s nothing but a faint shadow compared to Garak’s larger body covering him, hands holding his wrists, his thighs, cursing, damning him for forcing such a loss of control and- Julian gasps when there’s a hand cupping his ass below the uniform, squeezing flesh hard, not seeming to waste any time. He almost feels like it’s Garak that’s touching him as long as he doesn’t take his eyes off of him it’s so easy to pretend that-

“Perhaps you may have forgotten this small fact in your zeal to cuckold me, Dukat, but you might spare a thought for the time limit that we’re still very much under.” Dukat laughs at that almost disgusted sounding remonstration.

“Such altruism, Garak, such noble concern for the inhabitants of this station. Age must be making you soft. But not all of us have reached an age where time so easily slips away from us.”

“Oh I’m quite aware of the time, Dukat. Just as I’m aware that you have an hour and forty minutes to claim some primitive victory over me so by all means.” Garak waves a hand at them both, making a show of pulling out the chair leaned against the wall to the right of the doors. “But if you think that I’ve any intention of watching you-”

            “Watch…” Julian doesn’t realize the words come from his own mouth until it’s his voice that he hears and he has no idea why he…  _Oh… Oh God, yes._ There’s a certain intensity that Garak fixes him with unintentionally or not that makes that heat bring itself back to the forefront of his thoughts, licking flames up his body, Dukat’s hand questing, wandering, pushing his shirt up, something else down, some tangle of clothes. Julian shivers and assists in that disrobing, not for Dukat, but for Garak who continues to look, nostrils flared with the renewal of that musk, of that desire that fills the room. _Don’t... look... at me..._

“Yes, Garak, watch. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your little pet any more than you already have, would you?” Dukat’s voice so close to his face makes him turn, those urges a strange center split as there is clearly a strong, powerful male in front of him ready, wanting, desiring him while the one who’s fucked him, _claimed_ him over and over sits there watching. Julian steps out of the uniform, the shirt having been tugged, ripped, discarded to some place or another, leaving him in nothing but the blue shorts riding low on his hips, hiding little under normal circumstances but hiding absolutely nothing now.

            “Well then by all means, why don’t I just make myself comfortable,” Garak says taking a seat with a grand bow. “Or is this the part where I’m supposed to beg you not to defile my dear Julian?” Julian looks down, turning away, back to Dukat standing behind him feeling almost irritated with his attitude.

“Get comfortable, Garak. I promise you’re going to be there awhile. Maybe you’ll even learn something.” Julian sees Dukat’s eyes roaming over his body as he speaks. He sees the darkening of scales, smells that heat mingling with the residual memory of Garak’s and he almost shivers. 

“I don’t imagine so if the rumors are to be believed, but I’ve never put much stock in gossip. I couldn’t possibly say, believe Athra Dukat having relations with the help while her husband was on away missions. That would be unthinkable for a man with your professed vigor.” 

“How like you Garak to fall back on slander when the rest of you proves _inadequate_.” Julian ignores them both as they continue, hands to the waistband of those undergarments so quickly that he’s almost surprised to see them there on that blue fabric. They were the small body hugging shorts Garak liked to see him where when he was too gone to care about his own modesty. Julian supposes that they’re still better than the awful black and white tuxedo thing his friends dared him to streak through the halls in back at the Academy.Garak says he looks stunning in them. Stunning is not the word he would use for the way his erection bends around in that tight fabric, strains, pushes, until it creates a ridiculous tent, damp at the front.

            “So eager, aren’t you?” Dukat rasps as hands, seeming to tremble with anticipation go to the fastenings of his own trousers.  _No. Hell no. If you think that I would ever-_

“Yes sir,” is what comes out breathlessly. Julian snaps his mouth shut the moment he says it. Dukat clearly revels in that address and Julian has no idea where it even came from. But somehow he knew what would excite Dukat the best.  _Yes, there’s your genetic enhancement Julian. Can’t read people worth a damn but you know instinctively to call him sir, to argue with Garak, how to look, how to move..._ Because he isn’t supposed to think. He isn’t supposed to care about such higher pursuits.  _Waste of time._ Right. He’s supposed to be on his knees before the Alpha, before Dukat, before Garak, before any male who triggers that pheromone.  _Yes!_  Comes the ecstatic acceptance of that purpose as Julian tugs his underwear down, turning until he faces Garak. There’s a quick coquettish smirk, his eyes flitting upwards as he bends at the waist. Garak watches him with that faint hunger. Julian responds with a slow sensual wiggle, drawing it out, his hearing picking up the increased respirations from both men. He steps out, carefully balanced, hands brushing the ground easily and just for Garak he lets the tips of his fingers tease his ankles as he remembers how Garak loves to bend him so impossibly and fuck him hard. Julian can feel them watching, wanting, and that human ego cannot help but revel in the attention, the desire. _Yes... watch... wantneed..._

            Julian has always enjoyed attention, praise, eyes on him, people telling him that he’s good, doing a good job, smart, attractive  _worthy_ … And that invasive intruder that’s part of his makeup feeds on that need, uses it, twists it to the Julian now that steps out of that scant fabric, nude where the other two are clothed, vulnerable, needy, desperate to please, receive pleasure, pain, whatever will satisfy them. He loves it just as he hates it.  _And perhaps if you were stronger it wouldn’t be so easy for that animal, it wouldn’t be so easy to let it control you_. It’s an odd revelation coming to him in an even more inopportune moment. _Fat lot of good it does now. Shuttup Julian just do it, just-_ He stands back up, knowing his eyes linger on Garak, linger on the broad shoulders, the strong chest, linger to damn long between Garak’s legs to where that “shamefully everted” cock is so prominent. There’s a small panting breath when he turns around, feeling like he’s facing damnation as he looks into Dukat’s eyes. There’s a possessive examination, tongue tasting air, tasting Julian, a deep breath in like Julian is a drug and that heat within responds in kind. _Yesyours... God... please..._

            “Come here.” Dukat says that just as he acts, not giving Julian a chance to move. He’s already being pulled close, flush to Dukat’s body, his cock rubbing Dukat’s with a smooth astro glide slip past over that dark gray prick. Dukat’s hands are on his ass again, hips grinding with a slow planetary rotation that makes him gasp swallow soft. Julian’s already analyzing, calculating with that feel, that length to be some average measure that doesn’t come close to comparing to-. Julian bites the inside of his cheek and hates himself for even thinking in such terms.  _It’s nothing. It doesn’t feel... ah... Good... no... not..._

“Oh gaa... ah...” slips past, or better put is forced out from his clenched jaw and Julian knows it’s only the beginning of such humiliation. He moans soft when Dukat’s hands squeeze, knead his ass, holding him almost still some stationary scratching post to scratch the itch of his sensitive cock rubbing til it’s sticky wet hot to Julian’s. His hands knead at Julian’s ass, squeezing hard, spreading his cheeks, pushing them together, a small motion up, around. Julian’s hands are trapped between them not daring to move for fear that instead of pushing back against the hard body armor they’ll reach up, draw close and- _And I’d sooner bite off my own tongue before letting it anywhere near Dukat’s mouth._ His fingers coil, instead as hie eyes shut, forehead on Dukat’s shoulder as he pants, rocks, hearing breathy words to his ear.

“Tell me you want me to take you, doctor.”

“Pleaseyes... s...sir pls...”

“Tell Garak there that you want me to _fuck_ you...” Another squeeze, another spread, Julian’s jaw clenched whimper shut when one of Dukat’s fingers teases his hole and-

“Plsfkme...”

“Oh come now, doctor,” he hears Garak encouraging with odd joviality from the side, “surely you can do better than that for this poor old Cardassian’s hearing!”

“Dammit Garak, I-“ He has no idea that emotion bursting forth if it’s even him or not anymore another rock of hips, another reminder that his painfully hard prick is rubbing pressed between their bodies getting worked harder, pulsing with that urge to “I...ha...haaa...” A finger in just a little shallow bit swimming the tip, just one polished nail experimentally to that sensitive hole and Julian steps back one, a little closer, shutting his eyes tightly as he pants out “Please... f... fu... fuck I...” He licks his lips lifting his head back up thinking irrationally that this is entirely Garak’s fault as he watches them there making no move to do a damn thing but make snarky shirty remarks. “Please fuck me, sir,” Julian says, subconscious slave Omega singing praises to the heavens as his legs move in some stiff stilt legged jerk back three steps, four steps with Dukat walking in tandem, almost lifting him off the ground as Julian’s ass hits the desk hard. 

            Julian hears the rattle of something falling, turning his head a jerk twist right seeing the baseball roll along the ground. He Looks at Garak to the side back watching intently, eyes dilated, aroused, hands gripping the arms of the chair hard before he seems to think better of it and pulls them away flexing fists with a slow breath in.  _Don’t look don’t look God why are you still looking he can’t even see you, you miserable rotten lizard I-_

Dukat’s hand is grabbing his thigh, hitching it up, driving him into the desk harder, hip undulating slow, purposefully while Julian is unable to look away from the silent intensity of Garak’s stare.

“So responsive, so wanting...”

“A far cry Bajoran slaves that you’re accustomed to, isn’t it?” A hard rock, an almost angry growl, meets that dig. Julian’s hands slip down to the edge of the desk so he isn’t driven backwards. That press of hard cold armor to his chest making him squirm and he can see Garak past Dukat’s shoulder watching them both.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand that there are some who are just drawn to  _power_ , Garak.” Power that’s a trembling hand digging into Julian’s thigh, the other fumbling between them to that hard wet cock, slick, almost shiny fluid sluiced between them, Julian, Dukat, hot sex smell in the breaths panting that air, painting it the darkened brush of heat, that web of precum so warm, sticking to his belly, to his thigh there isn’t a doubt in his mind that Dukat will slide right-

“You want it, don’t you, you little slut? Tell the traitor there, how badly you want it.” _Like a bloody bad case of prostatitis._ He feels a clutching chastening though, almost some neurological scolding, pushing him back, that heat lapping back up around him like lave sundering the sinking black ash island.

“Bad... Need... pls...” His eyes meet Garak’s and for a wild moment he feels that plea directed towards the man on the chair, legs spread just a bit wider, hand seeming to catch before it palms that massive erection. “Pls... wantyou... need... inme... sir...” Almost an afterthought spurred by the feel of Dukat’s cock head brushing down, past his sac, shaft rubbing, those ridges teasing until Julian feeling the breath catching tickle turn to his balls drawn up tight. “Pls...” eyes shut because Garak looking at him is going to make him... _Yes...watch...need...take...Alpha..._ God no, no, he doesn’t needs this to turn into some stupid primitive mating dance shit he... Julian’s hand is on his belly, trapping his cock, holding it, hips undulating just a little, pushing that pressure back a hose kinked tight while Dukat is still struggling to quite push it in. There’s a soft curse in there, Julian’s leg hitched higher, a growl, the tip not quite at the right angle to-

“Did you need help, Dukat? Surely, a man with six children knows how this scene plays out, or perhaps this is not a scene you’re particularly familiar with. I’d love to offer my assistance, but I would just  _hate_  to intrude where I’m not wanted.”

“You’re right, Garak,” Dukat answers far too easily as he lets go and steps back. “Where are my manners, surely you’d want a better view than that.” Pant hiss pant, Dukat strokes himself idly, swollen prick wet and ready while he looks between Julian’s neck and his spread legs. That sex smell slides into Julian’s olfactory senses with a ferocity that makes him bite his lip just a little to try and hold that needy Omega self back. That pain only intensifies that lust, that longing, seeing that shaft swell just a micrometer, he swears it seems to, and it makes his mouth start watering, tat extra salivation hard to contain when he’s already breathing so hard.

“It’s these old eyes of mine, Dukat. They have such a difficult time focusing on things that are small.”

“Believe me, Garak. I’ve no problem making your pet scream without some vulgar peasant organ.”

“Your cultural ignorance is blaring clear as the cry of a Regova, Dukat. Didn’t you know that amongst  humans this “vulgar peasant organ” is held in rather high esteem?" 

Dukat’s response is another growl as he seems to catch Julian’s dark eyed lusty stare to Garak’s challenge. Garak sees it as well, that familiar smirk ghosting over his face.

"Isn't that right, Julian?"  _Yesmeinyes..._  And he doesn’t know if it’s that familiarity or some other strange esoteric criteria that his animal self finds lacking in Dukat besides the obvious size draw, but he can feel that desire pull back wildly to Garak lets go of his pink bitten lip and smiles.  _You're an unrepentant instigator but damn you, you're right._  And that’s when Julian sees that gregarious facade of Dukat’s slip for the final time, a rough tug of his hair yanking him from the desk, his arms automatically flailing out to steady himself. He’s practically thrown in front, right in Garak’s line of sight directly, catching his hands on his thighs.. 

“Turn around.” He already is but he remains silent. It’s not a polite request, not that jovial mockery, but the command of Gul Dukat back on Terok Nor, back in control of everyone there. The Omega rises to that, overshadowing that familiar Alpha, Garak, head nod nodding fast.

“Yes... yes sir...” He agrees.

“Good. You learn quickly. I can see why Garak keeps you around.” There’s a smack to his ass, hard, lingering grab of flesh to that sensitive spot and Julian swallows a moan. Dukat's has a hand on the back of his neck snaking around until Julian is forced to take a step back, bowed just a bit as that hand encircles his throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but rather keeps that hold firm, threatening, just too damn good and Julian can feel that tightening when he swallows, that command cause a hostile takeover of his body, his senses, as he feels the teasing slide of Dukat's cock up and down the crack of his ass. 

“Yess... pls... pls...” _yesgodfuckplease..._ He’s staring right at Garak thinking those filthy thoughts, feeling Dukat tease, slip in, out, that length shorter but nearly as thick starting to ready him, open shut, his hole trying to such that prick back until he’s buried as deep as Julian can take it. Julian’s hand is on the inside of his thigh, the back of it rubbing against the side of his cock, dark flushed deep mauve bobbing, trembling, wanting him to stroke it fast, fisting til he comes.

But he’s trained better, Garak, _Alpha_ training him not to play, not to reach pleasure until _he_ does. _But it isn’t Garak._ That thought courses obviously, but with that awareness marrying the base Omega alien brain. It's not Garak. His body doesn't care that it's not Garak. The animal doesn’t care except for now that it senses the same rules don’t apply, and he feels an odd almost ecstatic feel married tot he far more higher brained concept of spite. But that isn’t what holds. He finds his thoughts overtaken, overwhelmed, that hissing growl, that primal taunt as Dukat enters him slowly, so much more slowly that that fury, that need would call for. Julian's body tries to move, tries to meet that hot sinking length only to find the hand that holds his neck holds him tight, steady, the other to his hip now that he's- as far as Julian can estimate- half seated, half in, halfway to screwing every last remaining bit of sense out of Julian's head.

"Nothing smart to say now, Garak?" Dukat rasps out, that viscous thick precum dribbled down his cock, Julian's hole clenching him so tightly it's squeezed til it pools at the base, already running down the inside of his thighs. Julian releases that pressure, toes curling underneath him no the hard floor unable to stop the "ysysys..."that's thrown from his vocals, Garak watching, an inscrutable study all of a sudden.

          Julian wants nothing more than to throw his arm up to cover his eyes, his face which is surely nothing but some stitched together lustful mess. He wishes Garak would stop  _looking_  at him like that; he's not even sure if it's because of his shame or because those eyes hold so much promise that it's only heightening the heat in his belly to unbearable levels. There's some stifling barometer raising high pressure push, fuck in out that he can feel starting with a tilt rock of Dukat's hips. Still slow, still too damn slow as Dukat work in deeper and deeper like some interstellar mining barge with all the time in the world. But it isn’t gentle, it isn’t consideration, it’s punishment, that forced wait, that fat prick thrusting just two tics shy of what he _needs_. Julian wants him to move. He wants him to pound hard, punish that dirty part of him, pour it in until he stops thinking about bloody Elim Garak watching him like he's already buried inside. But he doesn’t.

And it's not Garak- but in that moment it feels like him and to his utter humiliation, Julian's hips respond harder, body pressed back as Dukat toys with his neck, breath to his ear in, out, hot, heavy _right there_ begging him to just _move._  

"You like that, don't you, Doctor..." Dukat breathes to his neck, tasting, biting, nails scratching sensitive skin and Julian swears that he sees Garak nodding some indefinable criteria having been met as he seems to hide a smirk, head turned from Julian a moment to some point of the ceiling.

"Ah... ha... haa... yyy...sss...." That mesh of sound tangling along the path from thought to tongue, Julian whimpering as he feels Dukat shift his angle, keeping him steady as his knees nearly buckle beneath him with a sudden hot hard lance piercing, thrusting up into him and right now it's doesn't matter that it's not the same. _Yesmoremore…_ That hand on his neck remains, groping, squeezing until he’s certain there will be bruises left by those strong fingers. He nearly chokes himself with that drive to shove back, forward, draw that cock in as deep as biology will allow and then some. 

“Yes... just like that... Guls... so tight...” Words a rush of some alien poetry pinging in his head each breath making Julian start to cry out in response louder, begging Dukat in earnest to fuck him harder. One of his hands drops to Dukat’s hip, pulling him closer, deeper, some quantum time stop changing to a sadistic slowing, pulsing, a control that he’d never felt as it seems to swell to bursting, Dukat’s fingers almost choke him as he breathes, grunts, bites the skin of Julian’s sensitive neck, drawing it to his mouth as he rocks into him. Julian doesn’t stop looking at Garak, taking hold of his prick, jerking, tugging hard, faster two fingers making a flurry of motion and he can feel himself clench, feel himself almost lift up on the ball of his toes torn between fucking his own hand and fucking himself on Dukat’s cock. And then he feels it, finally picking up harder, faster, Dukat’s fingers finding their away away from his neck to his open mouth. He sucks them eagerly, imagining for one filthy second, Garak’s prick forcing his lips open wider, fucking, sucking, riding or- “Get a good look Garak. See him writhe on my cock, see him beg me, see him suck me.”

Garak one twitch from shifting in his seat, hands curling on the arms of the chair as he looks at Julian, barely seeming to remember that Dukat is in the room takes that moment to yawn. Dukat takes Garak’s unusual reticence as some sort of victory with another thrust, another hard rut of his hips, the body armor hitting Julian’s back when he pulls him too close but Julian doesn’t care. The sounds descend to nothing but the slap of flesh, the suck pop gasp of his mouth on Dukat’s fingers, and the grunts behind him. Julian can feel that vortex pulling him into a whirlwind of primitive lust, emotion, that Omega self pulling him along unwittingly as Dukat turns to Garak declaring his intent to release, to mark what’s not his and buried balls deep Julian’s head is a jerky pleading nod to do just that the last vestiges of his rationality begging Garak silently to stop looking at him. Julian closes his eyes finally, blessedly, that plunge into the darkness making him feel nothing but hands, but cock, as he gives in and hisses through his teeth some pleading nonsense to come in him.

            Except Garak doesn’t remain silent for long. There’s a pause that’s perhaps only a fraction of a count but those newly quickened thrusts stretch that moment to some atomic eternity. Until Garak’s voice cuts through that curtain, drawing Julian’s attention with its dark purr. But only Julian seems to recognize that tone for the trap that it is.

“Sucking you? Perhaps you’re not as worldly as I’d heard, Dukat, if you think a few fingers in a human’s mouth would constitute what they consider proper “sucking”. Julian feels the still of Dukat behind him, some intrigue in his tone as his attention shifts to Garak. Julian catches his breath, not quite sure if his face is obeying his command to make an expression of surprise. Likely not. _What are you doing? What are you saying to him?! Why do you think I would ever want to-_

“You’re telling me they put it in their mouths?” The way he says it, Julian has some strange manic vision of his Aunt on Earth a hand to her chest in some matronly affect of shock. _No they don’t, Garak I don’t know what you think you’re doing but if I’m supposed to be yours then-_

“It’s one of their charming points,” Garak concurs and that anger is ebbed away to the memory of his mouth on Garak’s cock greedily sucking him, swallowing him, choking himself on it to take as much as he can. “But I would advise again, caution for the time and for the poor Doctor’s dignity.” There that dignity word again, and just as Julian realizes exactly what the hell Garak’s game is, he feels Dukat let him go and slip out, a hand squeezing his shoulder. 

_No, he cannot possibly... you didn’t..._ Looking up to the bloody security camera is exactly what that rotten scheming lizard has been doing this entire time with his goading, with that careful affront, with that smile. He remembers Rugal, everything he’s learned of Cardassians and their schemes and their damn blackmail Julian nearly hisses at Garak until that anger wraps itself back into some internalized ball, trash compacted and ejected into space. The animal won’t allow that. And in fact, those emotions, those strong driving anger lust impulses are so neatly intertwined that it only adds to his lust, his desire, that need to do exactly what it is they clearly want. _Pleasuresuckneedpleasewant._

“Yesss… pls… lemme…” Julian turns, cranes his neck, feeling fingers scrape over his skin as he looks into Dukat’s eyes knowing exactly what the base thought is. “Please sir... I want to...” Clearer spoken speech which belies the cyclone of swimming sex thoughts. _Suck it, make it bigger, make it harder, make it wetter, ready…_

If he was capable of any embarrassment any longer where those thoughts were led that one might do it, if for nothing else than the sheer lunacy of that biologically impossible nonsense. But he’s not. he isn’t. Julian shunted back and away to some dream fuck haze, dropping to his knees in front of that profligate despot, hands going to thighs, fingers curling into the thick fabric of trousers. Julian looks up panting, needing, not daring to glance at Garak.  _Watch me..._   _No... don’t look..._ Those two thoughts clash. Julian can still feel Garak’s eyes on him anyway. At least he imagines that he does. He can feel his heart beating faster, can feel his internal temperature forced to rise taking clinical note as it hits ninety nine.

“You want that, Doctor? You want that you dirty human slut? You want my cock in your mouth?” There’s a hand to his head, soft, light, as if Dukat were petting a dog. That husky amusement is obvious.

“Such language, Dukat. As the humans would say, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Garak,” Julian surprises himself by speaking with that calm, clear voice. He could almost slap the taste out of his own mouth as he lightly strokes Dukat’s thighs through the fabric. “Shuttup.” 

He takes a deep breath, some giddy half drunk feeling coursing through him and now he  _does_  catch Garak looking at him. Julian holds his attention seeing that Garak is silent when their eyes meet. _I know, Garak. Remember that. Whatever that’s worth._

_“_ Shall I lick it clean, sir?” Julian asks again in that odd voice that sounds so terribly much like him but very much is not. He wishes it would stop. He hates hearing himself speak that way but that again is brushed aside as his mouth hovers just at the tip, daring Garak to keep watching. He turns his head back looking out of the corner of his eye, seeing every breath drawn in the closer his mouth moves, the closer his hand moves. Julian feels warm, feels Dukat hands to the side of his face making his eyes flutter like the faint hum of an ionic fan. 

“Yes, clean it, human,” Dukat says, still that hint of wonder as if he can’t quite believe that Julian is really going to take that length, suck, swallow the prick that was just buried in his ass. _How little you know, Dukat, I happen to like the taste of my own ass._ He didn’t say that. He didn’t think it. Never _ever._ Not- 

“Mmmm...” It emerges with a slow swell, pushing through his hand, slick, hot and his mouth is pressed to that tip greedily. Julian hears the hiss above him, as that hand slips in its tenderness to a scratch of nails off his face, down his neck.  _Yes… yesgodyes…_   _I_ t’s the second time today that he has that taste in his mouth, salty, musky, but this time it isn’t Garak’s mouth-stretching cock but Dukat’s. _It’s not the same.._. _Don’tcare... more..._ There’s just a bitter hint that he tastes, that he swallows down greedily. Julian sucks the tip hard, tongue pressing the glans to the roof of his mouth milking another moan, a tightening of that hand to his scalp this time, picturing Dukat’s eyes half rolling back into his head as he works. Those usually dormant nerves flare back to life even without that length filling him, making him jerk up, imagining that prick pushing him apart once more.  _No... not those thoughts not... more..._

“Yes... yes, Guls, you love that cock in your mouth, don’t you?” Julian’s head jerks up in response, a manic stupid nod of his head as his tongue laps, licks around the ridges of that hard prick, tongue lapping up more of that pre cum coating his length, that salty skin, that memory of Dukat fucking him, that glans splitting his hole open so perfectly...

“Yessir,” that gasp is needy, hatefully so but he can’t help himself. His body doesn’t care already hot, sweating, knowing that room has to be filled with that humid hazy pheromone enveloping the lot of them. He can see it in the way Dukat’s eyes look at him dark and possessive. Julian sucks harder in response.

            There’s another exchange between Dukat and Garak, this time less steady from Dukat, remarking how readily humans put the sacred  _blossom_  in their mouths. At least that’s what Julian thinks he says with his limited recollection of the Cardassian language- he isn’t sure that the translator’s “blossom” is quite the right word in this context. Garak points out that Dukat is getting tiresome in his repetitive sex speak. He almost tells him to shuttup again. He needs Dukat to touch him, take him, fuck him hard to  _save the station!_  make him come until he can’t stand it any longer. And thinking of Garak only makes it-  _please... inme... please..._ And then again his body is in motion ignoring his humiliation, his right hand remaining at the base of Dukat’s shaft squeezing hard, slippery around his spit slurping up down fast, hard, his fist pumping, meeting his mouth with some rough kiss to his forefinger and thumb. But it’s his left that reaches back, that enhanced body balancing, arching back, tempting, silently begging Garak, begging that Alpha that owns him to _stop watching_  and just  _take him._  He has that vision again immediate, pressing, cock in his throat, in his ass, filling him hard til he passes out. Julian’s left hand is an awkward smack to his ass, fingers crawling over that skin, spreading, showing that quivering hole, his middle finger teasing, circling, his cock giving a hot jump jolt in response.  He can feel the sway of that heavy hardness thigh to thigh, a mass of dark blood engorged sex swaying back and forth slapping his right thigh in particular. 

            Julian pushes that finger in slowly, causing a stop to that suck of Dukat’s prick while he gasps, pants, hot breath a wash over that swollen glans, his saliva exhaled out with that almost choking breath. It’s not enough, not by far, his ass wanting to be fucked again with more than just that digit. He adds a second better, clenching, ass closing around and Julian looks up again as he strokes harder, hearing Dukat’s groans continue. He brings those fingers back to his mouth an unexpressed wince at how he slavers over them without shame, tasting his ass again for just a second, tasting Dukat on his own fingers before pushing them back in, a third, spreading, whimpers rising from his throat.

“Please...”

“Do you want it... again... so badly...?” He hears Dukat gasp that request, Julian giving just a turn back to Garak when he sees Dukat’s eyes almost cloud over when Julian sucks small nipping sucks up the side with a “please”suck”please”suck. Garak looks damn ready to do exactly what Julian needs, mouth opening just enough that Julian can see, can envision that lick of teeth that slight whistle out of breath he only ever sees when Garak is incredibly aroused and doing a poor job of hiding it.

And Julian pulls his fingers out once more with a long lick, letting Garak see that dirty human debase himself even further. He almost prays to forget this later, not knowing how he’s going to face Garak even with the damn drug tamping this back down. Whatever happens he-

“Please sir...” _Yes, please, alien reptilian DNA, please lead me to the deepest depths that my ego can stand. You know how I love it._ “...fuck my mouth...” _And Bob’s your uncle there it is._ Dukat clearly loves it. Julian doesn’t have a moment before Dukat’s feeding him that large swollen cock head between his parted lips, deep, deeper until Julian feels it hitting the back of his throat. He pauses. He waits. Not for Julian, but for some epithet the translator doesn’t even try to make heads or tails of and Julian has only a moment before those hips snap, nearly choking him. But Julian doesn’t even think to breathe, letting himself be moved, used, letting Dukat fuck his mouth roughly, his body rocking some rhythmic metronome, throat nearly screaming out as if it were suddenly as sensitive as the rest of him. He lets that cock pass his lips push push wet mess until he sees spots appearing. 

His hands are on Dukat’s thighs, on the fabric of that uniform still strangely put together beside the part of the fabric that Julian never would have guess was there. He can almost weirdly imagine the stain Garak would lament but leaves that thought as his throat is fucked raw, as his knees scrape the floor, thighs spreading wider unconsciously. That primitive ecstasy prompts him to moan, that tremor of his throat making Dukat pause after a particularly hard thrust, not half as deep as Garak has ever managed but deep enough. He holds there, still, steady panting, swearing, a pulse of pressure, another swelling gradient and Julian almost think it really _has_ gotten bigger. He can feel the ache in his jaw waiting for that release in his mouth, body knowing that it’s coming soon, hot, thick, drizzling down his throat like salted caramel cream rain. Garak likes to release in his mouth. He likes to watch Julian’s mouth filled full, obscenely dripping as he completes with a few hard thrusts, forcing it to spill from his lips. He likes to watch Julian madly slurp it up, tongue cleaning every fold of that slit from where that massive shaft protrudes and then beg him for more. Julian cannot help that conflation in his mind as it occurs, thighs continuing that quiver, wanting to open further, wanting to let either, both, it doesn’t matter as long as he’s-

“Guls Yes!” roaring that release of semen as Dukat pulls out letting it trail, spurt behind him, seeming endless coating his tongue, his mouth, a few final drips to his lip, on his chest with a few final hissing strokes. Julian licks his lips hotly, blissfully, locking eyes upward hearing Garak rising at last. There’s a wild toss of his head just then, absently sucking the last taste from his fingers waiting, wanting Garak to-

“Well now as... riveting as that was Dukat, I believe Doctor Bashir has nobly held his end of the bargain so if you would-“

“”I’m sorry, Garak,” Dukat says with a thickness in counter to the haughty square of his shoulders. “Did I say we were finished here?”

“Perhaps I misread the circumstances, far be it for me to think you’d any intention of  honoring your word however-“

“However the fact remains that we still have considerable time, and I don’t believe the Doctor is completely sated now, is he?”

“The good doctor, as I believe I alluded to before has an _illness_ that leaves him rather unable to make the best decisions at time, obviously. I promise Dukat, I’ll be sure to regale Major Kira with wild tales of your unbridled stamina and sexual prowess.”

Garak takes a step towards Julian, a slight limp, an obvious painful problem of his own that Julian would almost feel bad for were there not still that part of him that wanted nothing better than to tell Garak to sod off. He expresses that rather eloquently with a cheap come hither smile and a long simmering sweep of his eyes up Garak’s body. _Yes, you showed him, didn’t you?_ But it’s that heated look that reminds him just as suddenly of another heat entirely, that heat being still hard, aroused, wanting the act to be complete, _needing_ that release. And whether it’s Garak or Dukat, that Omega looks to them both.

“Oh you’ll have plenty to tell her, Garak. Because I’m not finished with your _vine’Uja_ yet. Isn’t that right, Doctor?” Julian’s response is a torrid hiss of “yesss” as Dukat’s fingers twine in his short hair, raising him more symbolically from the ground than literally as he’s yanked roughly back to his feet once more. 

“Yesssir,” Julian agrees breathlessly catching the flicker of a sour expression crossing Garak’s face before it’s replaced once more with a smile. Garak sits back down once more hard, face about to crack apart any moment.

“Lovely,” Garak remarks glibly, and Julian’s certain he’s never heard a more obvious “fuck you” in his entire life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um... more sex stuff? Oh and Dukat finally gets the eff out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a little shorter, but I wanted to end it at a certain point so there you have it. Definitely added some tags. I don't anticipate any other major tags added but I make no promises. Sometimes I think I get a bit carried away with my sentences and have to reign it in but I'm not gonna lie it's been fun. Warning for dirty messy pre fucking stuff and a brief note that 10 cm is about 4 inches. Thank you all for coming along for the ride *coughs*, you all rock!

The phrase “hoisted by his own petard” immediately comes to Garak’s mind. That’s followed by a silent groan as he recalls the context in which he’d last spoken those words to Julian some years back in an encounter annoyingly similar to this one. Garak has never put any stock in the fanciful notion of human karma, but he might start to believe right about now. He’d once heard some human tell around a table at Quark’s some mythos of a medical malady known as “blue balls” wherein a male genitalia upon being deprived of gratification, and unable to tame itself would ultimately turn blue and then promptly fall off. Julian had laughed at that and proceeded to properly educate him on the particulars of the human male anatomy and the properties thereof. Garak had never imagined such a salacious seeming subject could ever be so Guls damn boring. But then again Julian always did have a knack for surprising him. He’s surprised him rather neatly now in fact, as Garak can tell from that intelligent narrowing of his eyes that he’s figured out exactly what it was Garak had in mind when suggesting the move to this location. He isn’t sure why now Julian sees to possess a conscious that’s usually lacking during this time in his cycle, but Garak isn’t particularly hopeful about exploring that subject right now.

In fact, he’s beginning to wonder if that legendary human affliction that is the blueing of the scrotum might not prove true for a race such as his own, unaccustomed to remaining in an everted state for such a prolonged period of time seemingly for no purpose. _Oh there’s a purpose alright, Elim, only said purpose is preoccupied with a purpose that’s stupidly of your own devising. Didn’t Tain always say that you were too enamored of your own cleverness at times?_ Karma indeed. Garak swears he sees a smirk cross Julian’s lips. _Oh come on, Elim, even if he_ _has_ _somehow regained his wits he’s quite possibly the least vindictive person that you know._ Still, Garak sees something when Julian looks at that truth be told- as if such an egregious thing would ever- is deeply sexy. That could also be hormones, pheromones, the room like some humid den of reptilian iniquity if he does say so himself and that’s likely only to grow more potent as this goes on. Garak absently tastes the air, half wishing he hadn’t. There’s a certain distasteful something about tasting one’s lover’s mingled essence with one’s worst enemy’s; particularly when that taste does nothing but further arouse.

He considers the misfortune of his situation and doesn’t even allow himself to entertain the possibility of taking himself in hand like some uncouth hominid savage… _You know, Elim, it’s those sort of thoughts that make Julian call you an elitist picky snake when the two of you argue._ Point. But the fact of the matter is that he has absolutely no intention of going that route. Even if it kills him. …which it very well might. It’s all Dukat’s fault. He doesn’t lay the blame on Julian, no, his human is reacting in a very human way, now Dukat on the other hand… If Dukat weren’t there about to… Well that’s not really important now, is it? Garak continues watching them allowing just that slip of fingers curling around that chair arm tightly. For all of Dukat’s taunting he hardly seems to be half as focused on Garak earlier as he was before and that painful squeeze of the metal arm at least diffuses a moment’s worth of tension. Granted, a moment’s worth of tension seems like nothing when compared to that eternity of hardness passed in a black hole while others view the passage of time from outside space as little more than a blink. He once asked a Vulcan what his vision of that abstract “hell” might be. That was approximately his description and Garak is finding it to be quite apt right about now.

In a moment of cheek, Julian once referred to his inverted state of arousal as Schrödinger’s Erection and teased that since one couldn’t _see_ the Cardassian male’s phalange until a certain point, all arousal until then was merely speculative. _Well it certainly isn’t speculative_ _now_ _._ He’s sure that blood rush has driven him completely mad  or else he wouldn’t be having such ludicrous recollections while Dukat is… _Oh come now_ _really_ _?!_ …apparently lifting Julian in the air with his legs thrown over Dukat’s shoulders. Garak blinks at that, once, twice not quite certain if that is in fact what he’s really seeing and then finds himself with rather visceral audio confirmation, Julian’s voice climbing higher, with that deeper penetration. Garak can feel the swell of the ridges of his neck, that cry, that heat calling to him, telling him that it ought to be him standing there, pounding, claiming _his_ Julian. _Now that’s an extremely primitive thought._ Garak tries to steady that instinct, knowing that it’s non productive at the least, humiliating at the most. Though Dukat seems to have half forgotten he’s even there at this point. Garak himself is starting to dimly find reason slip the louder Julian’s cries go, watching his head go back further, some happy sexdoll for Dukat.

_You know that should be you-_ perhaps in a position more amenable to his back, reason chimes in unwanted- _You can hear him scream, can hear him moan, you know you can do it louder, harder,_ _deeper_ _._ Garak sucks in a breath shifting on that damn uncomfortable chair. Dukat has to be finished soon; Julian’s hands clutch at the armor of his shoulders. Julian gasp swallows that sound he makes when it’s hitting him good, hitting him hard and Garak thinks he very well may be having a stroke, his body stiff, visions blurry, almost seeing double Julian double penetrated and as infuriated as he is, he is Guls damn just a fiercely fervently aroused. He can’t quite see at this angle that drive in, out, but he can see the rock of Julian’s body, the bounce fury bite of nails as Julian’s fingers curl and he can see him close, twisting, half breathless and he knows that if it was him it’d be even better. He doesn’t need some self serving show of acrobatics, he just needs Julian here, now, in his lap, mouth to his prick until he shoves him backwards and takes him on the floor those long flexible legs bent back until his knees are parallel to his face. That’s one of Garak’s favorites. He loves Julian’s flexibility- that trait on display and he watches, unable, it seems, to look away, unsure what his face must look like right now as he forces his mouth to close back again.

Garak almost closes his eyes. _Almost._ There would be a beautiful escape to be found in nothing but the litany of noises- ignoring Dukat’s insufferable grunting- imagining nothing but Julian and him, the word Julian had said once, _Omega_ , flitting through his head willing, wanting, completely pliant to his whims. He nearly asks the computer for the time realizing how ridiculous that would look and instead settles for another shift, another bit back hiss as he can feel his hard wet eversion smearing fluid bunching soaking the inside of his pants and there is _no way_ that he’s going to ever go back out there in his current state. He catches some smug stupid smirk thrown his way almost as an afterthought, some smarmy nonsense that he can see is a clear cover for the fact that while Dukat may be in somewhat better physical condition, he’s no position to keep this up all day. He can see Julian nearly dropped back onto the desk as Dukat straightens up, a brief hand to his lower back that Garak cannot help but smirk at. He hope it pains him for the rest of his miserable life. He can see Julian panting, eyes half open, half clouded and if would seems for the moment that brief flicker of reason has deserted once more. But Julian surprises him again when Dukat turns back to Garak.

“Shall I show you once and for all, Garak,” Dukat begins arrogantly, “just how it should be done?” Garak nearly misses the question seeing Julian behind him half sat up on his elbows, looking not at Dukat but at Garak longing, swallowing, reaching a hand out and Garak swears he sees Julian mouth his name wanting, pleading and by the State he almost does it. He nearly gives in to that wild urge to spear Dukat clear through the window rocketing the lot of them out into space and into certain miserable cold vacuum death. Of course that’s perhaps an exaggeration, but that’s the irrational strength he feels, that blood, that call, that _scent_ coursing through him. He taste it again, tasting Julian far more strongly and he can feel that out of focus of his eyes before he steadies himself, forcing himself to sit back casually. Or at least as casually as one can manage while there is a clear dampening eversion halfway up his stomach.

“You hardly need my permission Dukat,” he begins mortified at just how thick his voice sounds. He doesn’t dare clear his throat but simply continues as if it had been intentional. “Unless as always, your drive exceeds your limited capabilities.” He’s certainly not going to give Dukat the satisfaction in knowing that jealousy his last display had spiked.

Dukat laughs, lazily circling Commander Sisko’s desk, giving- if nothing else- the security camera a good view of his intent, his shame, and that _small_ naked prick. That last thought might have been a touch uncharitable, but Dukat deserves none, and if there’s been one boon, one, and only one to his miserable exile, it’s the fact that he’s found himself entangled with a race who places an unnaturally high value on the size of one’s genitals. _Of course that could simply be Julian stroking your ego thinking you to be self conscious about it._ He doesn’t think so though- Julian’s propensity for deception is pitifully poor. 

“Go on and talk, Garak. Because that’s all you can do right now. _Talk.”_ Garak sighs, seeing that Dukat is making a show of this for his benefit as he kicks Commander Sisko’s chair out of the way before moving the baseball stand to the other side of the desk. _Ah, the narrow side there._ _Really, Dukat, we’re all going to die here while you make sure everyone is in the right place to see this grand display of yours._

“You seem to be making a lot of preparations, Dukat,” Garak tries not to hiss as he shifts again, Julian’s naked body beautiful as he obeys Dukat with that ridiculous repositioning, “Shall I call Major Kira in here to make sure your performance isn’t going to waste?”

“Oh that won’t be necessary, Garak,” Dukat answers yanking Julian to him by the legs and Garak wonders if he hadn’t been practicing that in his head while he was fucking him. “I think she’ll be hearing what she could be having soon enough.”

_Yes, I’m sure._ Garak could almost laugh. _Yes, talk yourself further into the shit, as Julian would say. Guls but I can use this._ Yes he can. And then he can use Julian. He watches, stares hard, certain his gripping the arms of the chair hard enough to trigger his hands to start molting, a slight slough of dead scales as he twists them, turns, and silently wills this to be over because the sight of Dukat _wasting time_ with that pathetic tool where he could be-

“Gaa....ha...” Garak hears his aborted name on Julian’s lips, seeing his back arch, shoulders, neck twisting to see him, arm reaching out to him with that rough thrust, pleasure painting that stupid slutty human face so nastily that Garak swears he’s going to lift this chair and hit Dukat clear across the room with it. That fool doesn’t even seem to realize Julian’s not even screaming his name. It would be laughable if his cock didn’t stir, push, body wondering _why_ he’s still sitting in this damn chair while Julian is half sobbing, head tossing, and Garak reads that look as that frustration he wears when Garak decides to tease him with just the tip until he’s in tears.

“Ha... ha...mmm... mmmr..... plssss....” Julian, arms bent back grabs at the underside of the table, hips lifted, pushing, and Garak almost wants to crow triumphantly that yes, that is all there is to be had and this is _not_ a tease, this is not a preliminary but this is it and no matter how Julian moves his hips, begs, pleads, there’s nothing more to be had than Dukat’s inevitable climax. But those cries are torture, they pierce him, they make him sit forward on that chair and bite his tongue to keep from saying too much aloud, giving too much of the game away as Julian’s face fixates on his upside down, not even seeming to care if the table drives into his neck. Garak sees those lips part deceptively thin but so soft, mouth so pretty, open now in such a perfect O he has half a completely gone mind to walk over right now and feed Julian his cock deep, hard, feeling the caress of his throat. There’s a careful hitch to Garak’s breath at that thought that he’s forced to swallow down at that mental image, so vivid, blanking his eyes so deep he barely even sees Dukat snapping his hips, pulling Julian to him harder faster, drawing more cries, more moans. Dukat covers his body driving just a little deeper from that tell of hips, that angle and Julian almost looks there but Garak knows that look, and knows that even as Dukat releases into him that Julian _isn’t_ there.

He feels such gratification at that he really has to hide that smile on his face and school it into something far more believable for a man who’s just watched his lover, his sex starved little human get pounded by Dukat. _Ah, I almost had hope for you, Dukat, but it seems you’ve come up short in this as well._ He hides that thought behind a hand, keeping his eyes angry, fierce, barely holding back that urge to fight as Dukat smirks at him his own lust satisfied. He sees Julian laying there, breathing hard, so “please master finish me please” that he’s already to his feet before he realizes it. He stops there however as Dukat sneers at him, seeming far more satisfied with his performance than a man who hasn’t even made his partner climax has any right to be. _Really, Dukat, Gul Darheel would’ve given a more impressive performance and_ _he_ _was impotent._

“Such savagery,” Dukat says with a reproving click of his tongue walking back around to the front of the desk, already starting to retract, and Garak thinks if he wants savagery the bottom of the chair has his name on it. “Whatever happened to that vaunted control of yours, Garak? Instead you’re standing there like a boy who just realized that a pretty girl can make it come out.” Garak swallows down what he’d really like to say, careful, so careful now that Dukat has taken a step back and ordered Julian to clean him off.

“I seem to have misplaced it somewhere in Ops. I believe it may be keeping your ethics company.” Garak watches Julian unsteadily push off the table, rolling off with an undignified breathy fall, and he can see, strangely, that while some of that mindless urge has abated, Julian is clearly still foggy, out of sorts. wanting, _needing_ and that fills Garak with such a drive to give it to him he once again almost forgets himself when Julian kneels before Dukat and starts licking, sucking, lapping with soft breathless moans. 

“As if you’re in any position to moralize to me, Garak.” A hand to Julian’s hair makes Garak almost growl in warning as close as he is, as close as Dukat is to finally _leaving._ “Standing there, licking your wounds, while your pet is so eager to give himself to me.”

“You always did like to delude yourself into believe those who come to your bed do so willingly.” He really wishes he had Julian’s mouth on him. Julian is so eager with his mouth, so hot, so- _human_ primitive, animal, messy, sticky, sweaty on him, under him. It’s not exactly doing wonders for his ability to act humbled and angry enough to get Dukat to just _leave_ already.

“How unwilling does he look to you?” comes the half purr that makes Garak have to once more resort to a literal biting of the tongue. No, not so much the predictable rejoinder but the half turn of Julian’s face, looking at him again, Garak _swearing_ he’s doing this to him on purpose as some strange twisted revenge. There’s also the possibility that this is all some lust driven delusion when those hazel eyes darkened, desirous catch his tongue flicking, lips drawing in the soft fold around that slit, Dukat’s prick quivering, almost looking like Julian might draw it back out again with those breathless ministrations. Garak doesn’t care if it damns everyone on the station, on Cardassia Prime itself right about now if Dukat even _thinks_ about going to a second round- third, the Julian in his head pedantically supplies- then he’s going to...

“Surely... you’ve had your fill...” Garak says, determined to sound angry, contrite, defeated, if it kills him. “Surely you can strut back out into Ops with your victory,” he says trying to make that curse sound as close to a plea as he can manage. He really hopes Major Kira blasts Dukat into atoms as soon as the alarm is called off. Though admittedly that won’t be half as satisfying as seeing Dukat humiliated, brought low and demoted down to little more than a paid cannon fodder grunt. He should’ve tried to get him to say something about Central Command while he was at it, but even Garak can only work so much magic.

He imagines he looks pained and judging by the insufferable gloat as Dukat sighs lustily and gives Julian a final scratch behind the ears that likely isn’t far off. 

“Do you really imagine he has anything left for you?” comes the scoff as Dukat resituates himself and Garak swallows hard, not quite daring to take another step forward. His hands wring behind his back nearly chafing scales once more as he manages a pained grimace. 

“All I have are my dreams, Dukat,” he says and finds that statement far too close to the truth to be even remotely comfortable. It’s that heat. It’s that Gul’s damned heat that Dukat seems free to ignore, to traipse through seeing as how he likely couldn’t rouse himself again if he tried. Garak could. Oh Garak has done that and then some with Julian spurring him on, sobbing his name, panting, pressed to the mirror of his shop smearing all that lovely human sweat all over it while Garak screws him raw. Oh yes, Garak will definitely have everything left that he needs. 

He shifts from one foot to another, contritely, swallowing bile as he makes a quick gesture for Julian’s eyes only, satisfied when that command is obeyed without question, Julian slumping to the floor, as if spent. Dukat laughs at that as he finally, _finally,_ makes his way to the door deciding that Julian will hardly be of any use to Garak, far too self absorbed to see the breathless panting, the twist of Julian’s body, the pleading look he directs towards Garak. _Soon... soon._ He doesn’t even think he hears Dukat’s last cutting dig when those doors open, when he hears some commotion and promptly forgets to even care. It’s the two of them now, and there’s a pregnant pause while Garak stands there, slowly drawing his hands free from behind his back, bending his fingers back on each hand stretching, flexing, his entire body shivering as he can hardly decide how to even begin.

There are so many possibilities, so many things he considers that conflict, clash, culminate in some scenario that would require two more of him and perhaps one more Julian. At the forefront is that drive to cover him, to use those shaky hands to free his cock, to rut, to fuck, to brutalize until Julian’s throat is raw. But as he takes another step,  counting three steps or one ridiculous lunge to where Julian lay naked and dripping, there’s another thought that comes to the forefront of his mind. _First to get him out of you._ Yes, that will never do. He can see Dukat’s seed dripping out of Julian’s body and his nostrils flare, that desire to possess, to fully claim clamoring for control and he finally allows it. Julian is panting, looking at him, eyes drawing back to some mindless lusty state but not quite. There’s just enough there that Julian speaks his name and Garak is seized with a maddening urge to prove that he’s just as capable of ludicrous feats of strength as Dukat. 

Garak sinks to his knees, joints creaking that abrupt motion in protest. _This is ridiculous,_ rationality cheerfully informs him as he takes Julian’s ankles and just _drags_ him across the smooth surface of the floor with one mostly smooth motion. Rationality dies, is silenced, is murdered by that dominating drive to mark Julian as his once more, hands clamoring up legs, long beautiful legs that are thrown over _his_ shoulders now. Except that Garak does not use the position to fuck no, not yet. His cock aches, _hurts_ throbs like it’s on fire, as if his own skin can’t contain its own need but first he needs to get that _out._ Julian flails, barely finds some purchase to the ground as Garak lifts him up, hands on his thighs, on his ass squeezing, grabbing whatever flesh he can. 

“G-Ga...rak... I...” And whatever Julian is about to say is silenced with a strangled swallow, Garak’s mouth between his legs, not to his cock but lower, past his balls, past sweaty skin until Julian’s reddened hole meets his lips. It pleases him that the brief stretch that Julian’s anus has when Garak finishes with him is nowhere to be found, that tight ring having closed back, the only evidence of Dukat that trail of slick semen between his thighs, just a few last spurts working their way out. 

He’s possessed, a man possessed. That’s his only explanation for the madness which causes him to fasten his mouth and suck, and draw out any remaining trail of Dukat licking, swallowing, mouth to Julian’s ass, his thighs, anywhere that he sees that clear shimmer, that thick white, the taste bitter down his throat. He hears his little head Julian telling him cheerfully that it’s the practice of some avians to peck a rival’s semen out so that he might inseminate a female with his own. Garak had scoffed at that ludicrous animal ritual until this very moment when he thinks those birds may well be some of the smartest creatures in the galaxy. Garak hears Julian’s keening cry, and that lack of weight reveals Julian on elbows trembling, holding his weight up, holding his hips head thrown back, legs spreading wider for him as he works his tongue inside. He doesn’t think a bird could’ve done it better.

“Yes.... yes... out... get.... gettim... out...” Julian seems to recall that exact moment or read that crazy thought straight from his head- with his enhancements the sky’s the limit- except right now the limit is the limit breaking bounce of hips making his shoulders ache, making him squeeze bruising hard as he swallow gasps Julian into another round of half sobbing moans.

He’s not certain he breathes, only breathing Julian’s scent, relying on that to sustain his lungs, Julian’s skin so soft, so pink, so very human  as he breathes it all in. It’s so human with its sweat but decidedly alien, reptilian, that heat, that glorious ripe sex musk that makes Garak want to give it to him _so hard_. It flares where once it seems to have died down, for him, only for him and Garak doesn’t even realize he says that out loud until he hears a babble yes from Julian, one stab, one suck more of his mouth to Julian’s trembling little hole makes Julian drop down on his elbows, makes Garak drop him with a thud, thin back hitting the floor with a loud smack. But he doesn’t stop there. Garak wants to taste him more, wants to get down and dirty right with his little human and he shoves Julian’s thighs back knees nearly knocking into his own head As Garak leans forward following Julian’s backward fall almost rolling him up, exposing Julian’s ass, head to toe tan, golden, right to that pink pucker, he thinks that there is a certain sexual lacking in that racial aversion to such sordid mouth play but he loves it. He loves his mouth on Julian’s ass, on his hole, and those few times he’s indulged himself, he’s even found that he likes the salty skin of Julian’s prick filling his mouth.

Garak groans, shifting, feeling the unpleasant wet between his legs, that swamp growing more obvious. His cock seems to decide that this is the end game that precome drizzling out with each further press of his hands to Julian’s ass spreading him, each stab, each fuck of his tongue to Julian’s hole met with a sympathetic rock of his hips into his bunched and balled up undergarments until he thinks the friction of that alone with bring him to completion. He wishes he could see Julian’s face right now. He can hear those strangled cries and imagines Julian’s index finger curled over knuckle side bitten brazen bites the higher his pleasure grows. _Yes, you want this so badly, my dear Julian. You think a few pills are going to bring this under control? You think that you don’t spend half our encounters looking at me over the rim of that teacup, that sweet, your eyes begging me, your tongue licking the edge like you can think of nothing more than me filling you? You’ve no idea how deeply I’m inside you, and I’ve every intention of making sure that you never forget._ Garak loves hearing him beg, hearing him half sob and as those slim thighs tremble, he pulls his mouth back tasting at last Julian and only Julian from that skin, his tongue replace by two spit wet fingers drilling ten centimeters deep in one hard thrust.

Garak groans hearing the raw throat scrape, watching Julian’s ass suck those in, feeling that clench, that tip of hips begging for more. He doesn’t need to tell Julian to hold that positions, to keep himself there, he can see Julian’s arms move, holding the backs of his own knees flush to either side of his face _just the way he likes it_ , spread so beautifully for him, such an invitation that he doesn’t even need to hear the words to know how badly that body needs him. He needs it just as much, fingers a pitiful substitute for his aching cock and with another deep digit drive, he wrings another throaty hitch from Julian wondering if this will be one of those blessedly few times that Julian’s body wets itself just a little- if he’ll get to feel that faint slick beyond the normal tissue damp. Oh he wants it. He wants to make Julian mindless enough, make that Omega so starved it readies him like an animal. Twice it’s happened, twice he’s felt that secretion around him, easing his passage even more so than his own natural lubricant, hotter than Julian’s own body making him feel molten. It was incredible, Julian wailing so loudly so long that the neighbors complained and Quark a world away swore that he’d heard him.

Garak will. He decides that now. He needs this. He needs Julian this one last undignified time to want him like this. Willing, eager, unfettered, unabashedly his. Garak licks his lips and pulls his fingers back, to another breathy whine and another plea to just _putitin...._ Yes, that’s nice. That’s exactly what he needs as he hastily strips his shirt, the shirt underneath and shaking hands fumble with his damn sticky pants as he tries to decide just how he wants Julian the most right now. At least the shoes slip off easily. That position is so terribly tempting, Julian open, wanting, his hands moving, long graceful doctor fingers on his ass, spreading himself and Garak can imagine the pain of his upper back, shoulders on the hard floor as his legs lock straight, feet on the floor above his head, every muscle straining to keep himself there for Garak’s scrutiny and he hears Julian whisper to him almost angrily, “this is what you want, isn’t it?” almost as if it’s Julian proper speaking those hatefully to himself. Garak almost comes when he hears that Julian, when he pictures that scowl, that frown of those lips and that little wrinkle between his eyes. That face Julian makes when he hates something that he really loves and Garak sees his hands move shaking, middle fingers slipping between his spread ass cheeks into that pink hole, adding to the stretch a held open invitation punctuating that statement. 

Garak absolutely decides that he wants him this first time where he can see his face breaking resistance down as he grabs his hips and watches Julian scream for him. Yes, that’s exactly how he wants him. Garak licks his fingers, tasting Julian, tasting the promise of that tight ass stretching around his cock and he cannot help but finally indulge in a long, far too belated rough glide of his hand up the full length of his thick shaft. And he doesn’t know how Julian seems to register that action but he hears another little hissing plea from him, those muscle shaking even harder. 

“For God’s sake if this... if this is what you want already then...” Then of course Julian should already be halfway to a dark bright fall through space and Garak feels his cock slick even more as he draws that anticipation out, not watching Dukat, not rubbing against him under a damn table, but properly, finitely, fully just _putting it in._

“If you’re determined to deny me an eternity after this, Julian, then I should think to enjoy it,” he whispers, taking one of Julian’s hands, licking his finger clean making Julian gasp. “Or would you deny me that pleasure as well?” 

He crawls up over Julian’s body, feeling Julian’s legs drop around his waist as if that’s where they’ve always belonged, and Julian looks at him with such lusty devotion he doesn’t think that he himself could fabricate a better deceit.

“I’ll never deny you anything,” Julian swears, that devoted animal swearing head shaking back and forth, fevered, urgent, and Garak promises himself in that moment that he’s going to fuck him hard enough that he’ll never forget it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert for the next chapter- lots of fucking.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet more sex?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was some hiatus... I'm still imagining this to only have one more chapter- 2 if some weird sex-spiration hits so yeah, stay tuned. Maybe it gets a bit weird towards the end I dunno. I didn't want to put a "magical healing cock" warning since it's not exactly "healing" but this may need some kind of magical dick warning. I know, I have a problem *cough* Anyway, thank you all for your support and I will work on the next update not being a year and a half later.

If that primitive Omega self had stemmed from some tangible central piece Julian would rip the damn thing out of him and stomp it to the floor. He hates those words even as he says them. He hates how right they feel and how much he wants to say them again. He hates the way his knee presses into Garak’s waist, the coquettish curl of his foot around to Garak’s back and that warmth, that damn warmth. That’s _not_ how this is going to work. He’s going to get his medication and he’s going to go back to _normal_ and Garak is never going to touch him like this _ever again_. Julian blinks a few times, looking Garak full in the face before he averts his eyes with a tight press of his lips. That resolve had lasted three seconds before a cold stomach pit drops his throat to tightness, before there’s a near screaming in his head that he’s _not_ going to lose this that he’s not going to… disobey his Alpha. 

Julian swallows hard at that thought, swallowing it down ‘til it dies drowning beneath every other unwanted self revelation. Rather his hips tilt in invitation for Garak to finish what Dukat couldn’t. And that’s when he senses the victory, that sense of satisfaction that Julian is still in this state, unsatisfied, wanting, _needing_. It practically rolls off in smug little scaly lizard waves a sea of triumph as Garak’s mouth is to his ear, hot heavy breaths making him shiver.

“Such a pity to give a masterful performance like that only to be left wanting.”

“I-“ An automatic protest neatly devoured by a long slow suck of his earlobe.

“Oh, but you are… so… very… wanting…” A deliberate oversight of Julian’s protesting his very obvious performance. Mmm… that last breathy declaration makes his toes curl before straightening, the muscles of his foot tense to near spasm. His only defiance is arms that remain locked down to the floor hard, muscles straining until the lactic acid makes them burn shoulders to knuckles shackled down to the ground.

But that shake isn’t only from his arms, no. Julian feels his entire body tense, focused on Garak’s finger circling the sensitive rim of his ass, hips canting more, closer and he can’t deny any of it. _I want you._ Not just want but need; he _needs_ it. Not Dukat, not some pretender to the throne as they say, but Garak. Garak, who his body says is his Alpha, the only one who controls his release, and he realizes that he couldn’t have climaxed with Dukat if he’d actually been _trying_. Julian licks his lips with that anxious realization. _God will you ever be able to… when all this is over… will you even be able to-_ It blinks away with a flutter press, of Garak’s finger working just enough to cause his muscle fluttering open shut like his eyes.

“For you,” Julian pants that confession unable to look anywhere but the legs of Commander Sisko’s desk. “Only you c-ca… aah… aah…” He falters that sentence as Garak once more presses in the tip of his finger, just the tip nothing more but there’s some coding, some recognition between their bodies that his craves more than any other. Julian feels every muscle contract, wanting to hold him there, draw him in deeper _beg_ for anything else. _God you shouldn’t be… You’re pathetic you know that. You shouldn’t just be_ _allowing_ _this so readily… not after all this time, not when you’re so close to-_

And Julian thinks brilliantly that’s likely the reason why those genetic tendrils that have poison ivy snaked their way around every facet of him have changed their tact now. Because he _is_ close, because he is making that final desperate pitch to escape. _That… that can’t be allowed, you know_. He hears that thought, his own distant voice echoing from a far off dawn. _You know that you can’t lose this. You know that you don’t want to lose this… him…_ That thought pervades and the rail against it is such a sad fleeting echo it’s a wonder it was ever even there. _I don’t want to lose_ _myself_ _._ But hadn’t he already? Or rather, wasn’t the self a mutable changing entity regardless of whether that metamorphosis was the result of a conscious awakening or some reptilian xy sludge slopped into him some thirty years back? He supposes that’s one for the philosophers as they say. There will be plenty of time for thoughts such as those later… much later. When there is no Garak. _If that’s… if that’s even possible._  

But then Julian forgets it, keening, half sobbing as Garak just _plays_ with him, circling deeper, but no less teasing, no less promising of exactly what he wants, hands opening, closing, clenching until his nails dig dents to his palms.

“This is all for me, Julian?” Garak asks again, though they both know that he already knows the answer. His mouth is on Julian’s neck sucking hard, bringing blood to the surface of Julian’s flushed heated skin with every rough drawing over of his teeth. He’s baiting him. They both know it. And as ripple quiet calm as his voice is, his fingers dig into Julian’s thigh hard enough to surely bruise. But Julian can play that too, words biting like sharp surgeon’s scissors. 

“It is and you know it, Garak. Unless you’ve got a mind to whore me out again for some other self serving power game.” Those caustic words elicit a sharper suck sting, Garak’s mouth an eternal fascination with his neck, with his pulse, teeth continuing that slow welling of blood just below the skin with fervor even as he speaks slow, thickly.

“Would you like that, Julian? Does that other self of yours pulse at the prospect of my watching you, wanting you, but not able to so much place a finger on you?” 

“I-“ There’s counterpoint press that goes a point past teasing, that opens him up just precisely enough to morph words to meaningless morphemes, back down to a series of throaty vociferations that lack even that much sophistication.

“Or is it you, Julian, that wanted me then? That wants me now?” _One knuckle count two fingers, deeper harder, god yes_. His neck jolts a sharp shake to deny that, smacks his head on the hard floor, and his lips stay parted, a gasp growl of some acknowledgement not daring to agree but- “Yes, I think that is you, my dear doctor Bashir…” _Second knuckle slow slide please please I can’t…_ “My” emphasized so darkly Julian shivers through the heat knees pressing more tightly and he swears he feels Garak slide up just enough the angle of his hips pushing the tip of his prick close enough to brush the small of Julian’s back.

Tongue trapped to his palette to stifle himself, Julian’s breaths hitch high and Garak keeps talking, whispering to him not even needing his answer. He knows. He knows how badly Julian wants him, he’s always bloody well known.

“I saw your eyes, Julian. I saw you spreading yourself, thinking of me, dreaming that thoroughly _inadequate_ rod to be mine plunging into you, weren’t you?” _Another finger, three count deep, thick so good God what are you-_

“H-ha… I… I” So hard to say it, so hard to… _So hard, so hard…_ It feels like he’s held that stone pillar heavy so long in his loins it’s all he can recall, Garak pressing closer, pressing digits twisting to angle deeper as Julian’s thoughts whirl wild impacting asteroids of that sight, of that _scent_ as Julian couldn’t reach out, couldn’t touch. Image after image of the flush dark of Garak’s scales around his eyes, the swell of the ridges of his neck, those eyes boring through him, thick cloth hiding nothing of his desire but even if he were to shut his eyes he could still know.

He wasn’t sure at first _how_ \- he’s used to being told he has all the ability to read people of a breached bulkhead, and why a _breached_ bulkhead he has no idea- but he can scent that need still. Not just smell but _taste_ and his tongue flicks out the same time as Garak’s moves to the shell of his ear, tugging roughly. And Julian thinks he can almost taste his own blood even as it pounds in his ears, the salty tang in the air hanging thick and heavy like he imagines Garaks cock between his legs; and _that_ thought brings to the forefront a taste distinguished from the rest. Julian realizes as his face flushes darker that’s exactly what he can feel coating his tongue. It drops around them like a humid haze, his mouth, his lungs filled with it until he thinks he might need to trach’ himself just to be able to breathe again. 

Julian doesn’t know if the seeming conflation between his olfactory and gustatory senses is part of that illegal modification or if that’s one of many miserable evolutions of his enhancements. It seems to be the latter since Julian can’t recall a single time in the years that this dance has been going on that he’s had such a pervasive sense of Garak’s arousal. _Just another aberration to your mad biology, right Julian? Yes, the wonder of medicine, of biology, of the infinitively adaptable genome._ _And surely some complementary genetics to set off those odd little evolutions combined with the neural pathway acceleration allowing those strange cells to divide, to change dozens of generations mutated just like a bloody virus. Marvel of modern medicine that._ Perhaps he ought to be thankful there weren’t any Cardassians at the Academy in that case. There’s a twinge at that- a sense of reciprocal possession that floods him so deeply he feels a clutch making his body snap freeze at the very idea that anyone but Garak could ever- _ever… oh oh never ever oh oh… Joined four open wide yesmore..._

Open mouth, no sound save for scant hitching breaths with the flare of Garak’s palm, a throaty groan growl to Julian’s ear that hand a proxy for Garak’s surely painfully hard prick pressed more insistently to his back and that “y” such an impossible sound to make when he can hardly swallow properly. 

“Is that a yes that I hear? Is that the desperate wordless begging of my Julian telling me that he’ll give me whatever I desire? No matter how rough, how hard, how wide I want to-“ _Drivemeopenyes_ Julian finishes the thought without hearing sure that’s it’s a near perfect mirror and there’s a stilted jerk of his head, a thrash, a pleading “nnggh” that makes a high pitched scrape like a scalpel over metal. And just like that sound fissioning down his spine his entire body tingles, pulsing with some ancient frequency as Garak teases the potential of that full hand, Julian’s body clenching, trying to draw in any part of Garak that comes into him.

“Ah... haaa.... I... aye...” a far easier sound coupled with a jolt of Julian’s right hand gravitating like an electromagnetic smack to Garak’s face. But it isn’t a chastising slap but rather an uncoordinated failing of his prized neural pathways as he grabs for Garak’s face, the back of his head to pull him down from that dark desirous look to answer him rather mouth to mouth. 

“Now was that so hard, my dear?” Garak husks, so deep it’s nearly a rumble of sound that makes Julian’s toes curl and knees go from gripping to tipping sideways further, hips tipping up to meet Garak’s driven near half a palm deep. And Julian has a wild and wonderful image of that resistance breached further, full hand engulfed by his eager body and his legs tremble, that bodily spasm back like some malfunctioning android of old.

It makes his eyes open wider right before he shuts them to drown in it, if it were possible to sink into a scent, that’s exactly what he does tasting not so much a tangible object like some strawberry potpourri, but rather the scent of darkness, the tongue tripping taste of a memory of the sky over Cardassia Prime at night, some dessert blossom blooming only under a sliver of moonlight. It’s some intimacy that he _really_ doesn’t want right now but it’s there, spiral swirling galaxy with some hot raw musk, panting to his ear, breaths seeming to sync with his as his own respirations grow more ragged and he turns his head, neck craned, mouth moving to the dark flushed ridges of Garak’s neck breathing, tasting, half wanting to bury his face as his left hand tries and crumble the floor beneath it, fingers sore, shake pressing as hard as he can because he _knows_ that he can’t-

“I… t… touch… I want to… p… please…” the words don’t come easily, sticking in his throat as he tastes the sweat of Garak’s skin and he really wants to taste him deeper, not with just his mouth with every part of him and he almost thinks he’s going to be denied until Garak’s voice is a low whisper, barely retrained need slicing through. Julian has no idea how he didn’t sense it before, but he can taste that need past that crumbling control barrier salty sweet like caramel and just as sticky.

“If as you say that you’ll never deny me anything,” Garak seems to hesitate, fingers digging harder into his thigh, that swollen tip trailing to Julian’s skin making him half whimper. “Then it would be in poor taste not to vow the same.”

That permission grants him some blessed relief, Julian’s left hand bouncing from the floor vaulted like some space arrow flying hard, both coming to grab Garak’s broad shoulders, kneading, squeezing, feeling the muscles beneath his fingers bunch, feeling the growl as his thighs squeeze Garak’s waist so hard they tremor with the warning shocks of some major eruption. His teeth brush, lips bared back, some animal lust reasserting, and he hears Garak redirect what is surely some nearly whispered hush of his name as that penetrating hand deserts and he grinds against him wet, hard, surely as close to bursting as Julian is. Julian can feel his shaft sliding between his spread cheeks wet, hot wanting him to beg he just knows it and he wants to beg just as badly, body already pleading with each insistent push up of hips until he feels his abdominal muscles nearly cramp with that effort to feel more contact.

“In me…” his mouth is a back and forth brush of teeth up Garak’s neck to his ear, his head turning, rubbing his cheek again, some ancient meaning held for that Omega self that’s actually, crazily starting to mean something to Julian as well. _You’re mine…_ That’s the aberrant thought that would stop him dead if it didn’t feel so immediately right, if Julian’s body wasn’t engulfed with that need for Garak to prove it. “Please.. inme…” Another hitch of his leg as if he could climb it to heaven and drag Garak’s cock into him right along with it.

Julian sees the darkening beyond that swollen flush of scales, sensing the blood welled to the surface beneath his teeth and he feels some visceral satisfaction with another rough grind, another snap of hips, low voice teasing him if that’s what he really wants, Julian Julian, name doubled like a benediction or heathen prayer to summon some pagan god of lusty dirty fucking. _God what else do I need to…_ Julian whines again with another rut, another drag of that everted shaft up, rubbing his tight sensitive sac until that rub, rubs his cock harder, heavier, star bursting until it’s no longer enough to tease but to bite, but to tangle his fingers in Garak’s unravelling slicked back hair to crush their mouths together savagely. 

Like a human, Garak would say lacking elegance, lacking finesse, lacking anything but some mindless fornication drive but Julian knows how he _loves_ it. He bites at Garak’s mouth, fingernails digging into his scalp, and he feels air rush out when Garak’s hands shift to his slender shoulders and _slam_ them back those few inches to the hard floor. And Garak follows with a cover of that heavy body to his chest, keeping him from a full breath, mouth holding him down, teeth meeting his, tongue meeting teeth, every gasp drawing a keening claw up from his throat. Julian’s chest heaves, and he sees spots dancing some sparking electric pulses blink white making it tingle behind his eyes, one hand clutching at Garak’s back, nails short, sharp dragging along his spine ripping a deep throaty groan from Garak’s mouth to his. Julian edges close, so close, that his entire body beats hot and out of breath one thrumming hard heartbeat making his chest to his toes ache salt swollen full.

He can feel the sweat beading, running, and he doesn’t know how he’s ever going to survive this when Garak hasn’t even entered him and he’s already-

“Ha… ah… g-godgodgod…” that last cry pulled from his vocal chords almost chokes him his throat is so tight. Those words mash against Garak’s mouth before their lips part, heads tilting, forehead to forehead instead and that dip of Garak’s, that _chufa_ seems to spill fire into him as Garak laughs softly. He teases with a bruising squeeze to Julian’s shoulders and another roll of his hips that he’s not God but simply Garak. Julian thinks they’re one in the same in the moment that Garak’s cock slides over his, eclipsing, that mass a slide sticky sweet glide with just enough friction to induce one edematous seize of his lungs. He forgets breathing completely, warm wetness spilling between them, his back arching with a quick snap hard enough to lift the both of them bodily for a solid count of three. That is if he were counting which he _absolutely_ is not because right now all he can process is one one one right after another “ah ah ah” double metronome fast enough surely to short out a tricorder if he tried to take his own vitals right now. His head is dizzy swimming and if he hadn’t been nothing but one steady breath out he’s sure the wind would’ve left him with that rush.

There’s nothing but wet, salty damp from his own skin, perspiring forehead down his neck, wet underneath his nails; he’d be properly mortified under any other circumstance but now the remnants of skin and blood just make him fucking _purr_ with deep satisfaction. But that’s not the only wet as his eyes flutter flash shut reveling in the satisfying slick between their bodies. There’s some strange science at work, some other biology that he’s been terrified to properly explore until right this moment that it comes back vivid vicious, and his eyes snap wide, voice a stuttered hitch as he feels his hole clench, spasm, seeking something, and in that longing there’s a release he’s only ever experienced twice before- both with Garak. 

Julian’s voice is a stuttered stunt into silence, hearing nothing in the moment that he feels the trickle down, not unlike Garak’s own lubricating phallic secretion. Only it’s not coming from his cock but his hole, and he squeezes his legs, clenching tighter, as if he could somehow seal that shameful secondary proof of his altered body. But that only makes it worse, makes him want, and he can feel that his hardness hasn’t flagged at all, and Garak looks at him with the lustful eyes of some maddened animal wanting to fuck his claim so deep in that it embeds into his bloody DNA.

_Godyesdoit._ And that thought is unadulterated his. It should scare the hell out of him but it doesn’t. Because it’s true. It’s just… Just a thought firing off into nothing with a pull back of Garak’s head, eyes blinking wider as if he cannot believe what’s just happened either. Stunned births sensuality personified in a beautiful panoptic pulse right before Julian’s eyes and before he can even vocalize that need, Garak’s hand fumbles fast with his prick and enters him so fast and deep he feels breath driven in and out like some ancient intraortic balloon pump. There’s this blissful breathless silence spanning into some time vacuum eternity that it takes Julian’s voice to catch up with the deep dimension rending girth of Garak’s massive shaft splitting him without warning, an endless slide down, eased by that wetness seeping out of his hole stretched wide, so wide that he almost can’t believe the elasticity of his own body.   And that’s when that silent scream shifts to a series of swallows, finding the voice to vocalize with a cry “oh” tripped to “God” some glorious guttural gospel wailing the walls down, and god he prays that somewhere someone locked the door because he’s sure it sounds like he’s being murdered some dreamy death by impalement as Garak grabs at his thighs before landing to his slim hips with some purpose long faded away to beautiful lusty impatience. Coordination lacks and falters with a series of swift grabs each seeking greater purchase to drag Julian’s body more forcefully to his. As if Garak’s hips alone cannot fully thrust hard enough, deep enough to satisfy that need, he pulls, the tops of Julian’s thighs providing the deepest best angle and Julian feels his arms drained of blood, drop down to his own head hands trying to hold back his last remaining shreds of sanity from being fucked out of his head, his long fingers tangling in sweat slick strands.

He thinks he can see Garak speaking, the words lost in his own blood pulsing rush but he imagines “mine” he imagines “Julian”, he imagines the lusty grunts, groans, punctuating each brilliant plunge deeper into him. It isn’t fast. That’s the wonder that leaves his twisting and writhing, half sobbing as Garak’s fingers bruise harder, pull their frantic bodies together with more determination. It’s not the pace but the depth, the intensity as Garak slides out nearly all the way, ridges around his cock hard, alive, throbbing hot, pushing back against the walls of Julian’s tight spasming heat as his body tries desperately to lock him, to squeeze him until he has no choice but to release. Deeper, god Julian doesn’t know how, has always questioned the inane hyperbole of being fucked into one’s throat until he can feel every bottoming out force his jaw to clench, his throat to close around every strangled whimper, taut, literally _gagging_ on it until he thinks it might the most brilliant bloody death in human existence.

“More...” That’s him. That’s him and he doesn’t know how he forces words between gasps, between keening whimpers that nearly hurt his ears. Garak slows, groans some beautiful epithet that makes Julian force his eyes back open to the spinning ceiling the sight of the man above head thrown back in a rare display of such thick Cardassian perspiration that the doctor in him panics just a moment. But only for a moment before Garak’s hips tilt again, lifting him just a bit more, another nanometer, another measurement that should surely be too small for human perception but just then Julian thanks that whimsical deity that he can feel it. He thinks that his thighs should hurt from that strain, that control of this position, but is it Garak moving him, molding him, the corded muscle of forearms, biceps never more apparent and Julian’s mouth is dry as that still of movement allow him to feel the massive shaft in him and all at once drink in the sum of the man driving into him and god help him he doesn’t just need it he _wants_ it.

“More...” He begs again, not even knowing what more could possibly encapsulate until Garak’s head falls back to look at him blue eyes not lust clouded but desirously clear. Hands leave his thighs and Julian sees the strands of thick black hair messily plastered to his face, aching to touch, to drag through them, that evidence of such a wild loss of control making him heady. As Garak pants, as the drumming roars back long enough to hear, he sees lips moving, catching the smirk in his voice before it appears on his face bringing a warm rush of anticipation to his already wet dripping cock. 

“Do you truly think you can handle more... my Julian?” Garak asks, his eyes a mirror of Julian’s own licentious sweep each admiring the other bathed in passion driven dishevelment. _I want you..._ The thoughts clear though he doesn’t quite process that significance and won’t consider until much later. _God I want you..._  

His... its... Julian doesn’t allow that defiant self examination in that moment as Garak either leans in or draws Julian closer. _Yes everything..._ Not eclipsed into a mash of words but clear, direct, Julian’s mouth curving to its own natural smile, belly aflame with that query as he finds the words come not forced, but rather allowed in their natural tone for that instant.

“Everything...” he breathes realizing that it was in fact Garak dragging him up after all- though hardly a feat, he considers acknowledging that he isn’t exactly a teaspoon of neutron star. “Mmmm...” sinking, biting his lip because he has no Earthly clue how else to handle that perfect slide back down Garak’s cock as he’s pulled to his lap, straddling Garak’s thick strong thighs for just a moment before his legs shift wrapped around Garak’s back and he can feel wide palms spreading his ass around the root of that big blessed monster piercing him.

His mouth opens, closes, swallows as Garak’s mouth is on his collarbone roughly drawing another series of hitches sighs from him.

“If you can handle more, then take more,” Garak whispers and Julian’s legs wrap around his torso squeezing as Garak gives a soft bounce, a bite, another hard rock holding him open as Julian’s hands, arms over Garak’s shoulders aid that lift, that fall with a soft series of inarticulate curses at that dominant Alpha manhandling. Garak controls him even as Julian moves himself, rocks into him, fucks himself to near orgasm on Garak’s cock, the warm slick pooling between them, trickling onto Garak’s thighs from them both, sticky, keeping that depth drilled as deep as gravity will allow. Julian can feel his prick rub Garak’s stomach, his own, tightly coiled waiting for Garak’s release, praying so badly for his to follow, up, down, Julian’s brain stopping count somewhere past fifty going from that subconscious compulsion to a white out _yesyesyes_ as Garak forces a finger beside that girth to make him stop and nearly hit his face into Garak’s shoulder when that extra stimulation makes him surge anew with heat.

“A... alpha...” slips, the word not unfamiliar between them both but rarely used outside some carefully guarded clinical discourse. “Garak...” follows, past lust, to dizzying delirium as Julian feels euphoria dancing to some sex induced state of anoxia where every bit of oxygen seems ferried back and forth between his cock and his stretched, battered hole. “Please...” he breathes again, seemingly only having enough air for those pleas for it’s surely not to breathe as Garak is slow, methodical, each steady push of his hips surging serotonin through Julian’s body until he feels high and weightless. He doesn’t beg for more, for harder for faster, but for that final pinnacle of heat, of Garak’s seed, feeling the swell, the pulse barely held in check and he doesn’t know if Garak was waiting for him to beg or was holding out for some other esoteric checkpoint but he knows that Garak is surely close.

“Please what... my dear...?” Garak breathes back, unfairly taking his mouth again as he somehow slips second finger alongside his cock making tears pinprick the corner of Julian’s eyes, half sobbing into that slow deep kiss. 

Julian swirls his tongue around Garak’s, panting, breathing far too hard for that lapping to be anything but impossibly messy, bathing Garak’s lips, their saliva sticky sweet between them both as he tilts his head and lets his eyes half close with each rolling wave of Garak’s hips angling his cock up, back, the slick slide surely coating his thighs with each new thrust until Julian can think of little else but Garak’s thick come joining it. He licks at Garak’s lips, at that open mouth each drawing a shiver that makes him shudder and clench in turn with the sympathetic throbs of Garak’s cock. 

“Please...” Lick. “Comeinme...” Lick. “Alpha...” Lick. “ _Master_...” And he doesn’t know where that last bit draws from, some half second skip of time where the universal translator lags to that word and Garak is impossibly still for that freeze of time. Long enough for Julian to nearly wonder if he hadn’t said something insulting, but that atomic second is only an eye blink before Garak’s eyes simply shut, fingers leaving so hands can grip his hips with every ounce of strength. 

Julian hears long groan of “Yesss” drawn to the skin of his neck thrumming his own heart to beat faster as Garak’s cock throbs, spasms, spills endlessly into him more and more, that hot ejaculate pouring into him until it starts dripping out and down the base and he doesn’t even realize that he’s coming himself until he becomes once again aware of the vibration of his own throat, and the feeling of being unstuck in time, floating, weightless with that starburst of explosion between them both making his entire body lock like a vice until it drains out of him like a broken hypospray. Julian’s legs drop down and he almost feels the room spin with the tingling aftershocks of his release making every expansion of Garak’s abdomen with those deep breaths a hypersensitive torture. He doesn’t care. He loves it, just as he loves the feel of that hard length still pulsing strong, locked into him like some primitive Earth hound. 

“Again,” He hears Garak’s voice rasp to his ear, pulling him out of the brief moment of euphoric reverie, the ebb of that Omega impulse bringing him back to a moment of reprieve that he knows won’t last. Yes, again is likely. Again is usually how it goes and Julian isn’t quite sure why Garak would feel the need to vocalize what’s usually a given. Especially when Garak swears that Julian’s body seems to draw some biological miracle out of him that practically keeps him hard for days but... But Garak’s fingers have moved at some point, tangling rough in his hair, pulling, owning, and Julian’s body already begins to respond when Garak tightens that grip almost savagely. “Call me “master” again.” And as that thought processes, semen, still seeping out between them, Julian feels as if he ought to consider the weight of his response with far more gravity. Naturally he doesn’t when he answers fervently.

“Yes, master.” And so it goes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longest 69 in the history of fanfic?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So no one's going to believe me if I swear seven chapters is it. I don't think I'd even believe it myself. This is probably too long for what it is but by God all the editing in the world couldn't trim it down any more so uh... Enjoy? Also, much Kudos to a stunning study of Cardassian psychology/memory that I read on Tumblr which I can't find now for the life of me or remember who wrote it so yeah.

There is no word “Alpha” in the Cardassian language. The words “Alpha” and “Omega” have always come through the translator unfiltered and alien sounding to his ears- slightly different than the sound of Julian’s usual unadulterated language when he speaks to him without it. Julian’s few explanations of either word have been rambling at best, evasive in most cases, and even Garak’s attempts to parse any underlying meaning out of them have yielded little. His private research has led to a number of definitions- amongst them some portion of an ancient alphabet only currently in use by esoteric social groups commonly seen in higher human education. Until now he’s generally assumed there to be an alternate sexual connotation as humans tend to be coy about such euphemisms. But until Julian’s slip just now- and what a beautiful slip it was- he had no idea the true significance as it pertained to the circumstances. 

The translator did _not_ have trouble with “master”. The translator brought that to his ear in an instant and in that instant that he froze, that the meaning slammed into him as he into Julian and that... did something to him. Far be it for him to find any uncomfortable parallels between himself and Dukat but even he had to admit there to be an ultimate aphrodisiac to be found in those words. Not a “sir”, not something so prosaic and trite, not the same mealy mouthings as one would hear from some Central Command Bureaucrat bumping into his superior on the hall, no, something far more... delectable. Garak’s tongue is a mirror of Julian’s: a thoughtful poke out, the two of them looking at each other breathing heavy, still in the moment as the entire Guls damned station likely collapses around them. _Omega... vine’Uja... so there is an equivalent word after all..._

“Again,” Garak says finding his voice to be far more raspy than he’d expected as the immediacy of his sore tingling legs begins to creep back to the forefront. Perhaps if he takes a moment he can-

“Master,” Julian repeats, the word more like a desperate breath than a proper address. More the better. So says his prick, flaring furiously back to life leaving him to wonder if there isn’t some internal agent in Julian’s tight slick hole seeping through his skin to cause such an impossible feat. There are few things in this life that Garak chooses not to question and this is one of them. Not when Julian’s face holds that precious expression of clarity, of a man who knows exactly what he’s saying.

He considers briefly what promises he might extract, what whispered oaths he might draw from him in such a vulnerable state. But if there is one confidence that Garak holds- especially now that he sees it so raw and unfettered- it is in the efficacy of that deeply conditioned desire. _Yes, it may have been borne from that initial altered biology but you, my dear, have so egregiously underestimated the power of positive reinforcement cultivated over such a long time span. Only fools see torture, interrogation as a mindless exercise in brutality, as some masked figure wielding a spiked mace to flagellate some poor soul until he spills his darkest secrets. No, there is an art. There is a gift for knowing the most effective way to break a man. Really, Julian, it’s far easier to break a man with pleasure than with pain. Especially when said man has such a handle biological... what do you call it, Achilles tendon?_

One can witness the slight breathless rock, the dazed and dreamy cloud of Julian’s hazel eyes as Garak shifts, as “again” is answered by “Master” without any hesitation by Julian’s own mouth, every syllable enunciated with precision precisely timed to each minute little pulse of his cock. Not even a whimper, but each gasp a tortured drag far more musical than any pained scream he imagines he could draw. _And I_ _could_ _make you scream, my dear. I could certainly put the rod to you as it were until your throat was raw with the agony, until you didn’t recognize any sensation but those of_ _“pain” and “less pain”, until you believed me God of your every nerve ending, until everything I wanted to hear spilled from your lips…_ He carefully corrals that thought, lest he allow the memories of similar sympathetic screams to conflate too much in his head with the present pleasure. _Ah but that’s part of the alluring danger in your line of work, Elim. One cannot be too careful lest that conflation addict one to such sadistic pleasures which would compromise one’s professionalism... Then again, aren’t there those humans who actually delight in such oddities?_

He’s wondered more than once if Julian might fall into that particular deviation with the few signs that he’s seen, and in spite of his efforts to the contrary, that image superimposes itself over Julian’s current breathless panting ecstasy, pain, pleasure, blurring to one breathless needy slave to his cock. _Would you wear the same sheen of heavy human perspiration, I wonder?_ That skin lends itself so deliciously to a red blood darkened flush, to moisture, to _heat._ Julian normally runs hot and that extra elevated temperature during these cycles is even more addictive. Julian feels hot now around him, his skin warmer than Garak’s, damp, and in spite of his earlier vow, Garak’s brain continues that academic process of considering the strange biological alteration leaving his usually hypersensitive prick still heavy aroused, pulsing, throbbing as Julian minutely moves, muscles contracting unconsciously drawing those extraneous drops of come out of him.

_A slight numbing effect then, that’s the difference from the other encounters._ The recollection is a vivid overlay in time, Julian brought past the brink of any mindful ecstasy to the point of that sweet sticky lubrication and each time Garak noting his continued ability in reaction. He licks his lips and marvels at Julian’s oblivion to another of his altered body’s little quirks. _Well best not to waste it then, right Elim?_ Not that any use of Julian’s willing body could ever properly be considered a “waste” but if this is to be the “final encounter” as surely Julian’s marked his calendar then as Garak promised earlier he certainly is going to enjoy this. Regardless of Garak’s firm conviction that this will hardly be the last time, it would seem foolish to allow that pragmatism to interfere with the moment’s enjoyment… such a frivolous thought- Guls, he’s been spending far too much time around these humans!

Garak nearly forget the pins and needles- a quaint human phrase he’s grown fond of- in his legs until he goes to shift and feels that insistent tingle reaching an incipient point of pain. Which means that Julian is going to need to move… …off of him that is until he gets that feeling back. He briefly considers perhaps amputation due to some mid coital staunch of blood would not be the most embarrassing medical malady in Cardassian History. He can already imagine some half a dozen others, some even involving an ill thought out tryst and that allows him just enough of a back off in that swimming haze of lust to decide that no, he’d rather not risk becoming a comical foil in some future medical text for so fleeting a pleasure. _Yes, Elim Garak, case 51190 double amputation due to lover’s weight during coitus._ No, there’s a much more insistent fleeting pleasure he’d been denied before and though there’s a brief concern that Julian’s mouth may nullify whatever blessed sensation reduction is currently leaving him fully aroused without incident well, by the State that’s just a risk he’s going to have to take.

There’s brief internal struggle as Garak’s hands once more settle on Julian’s tight firm ass with every blessed intent of lifting him clear off, each breath out as the movement slides sorely tempting him to let Julian’s panting body drop back down like some beautiful freefall to Terran, pierced, penetrated to a beautiful seismic depth. Yes, Julian’s eyes would do that lovely flutter shut and surely he would pant out another needy drawn out ”Master” and… And Garak musters every last ounce of willpower he’s ever possessed in his entire greedy existence to meet that slightly confused frown head on.

“Your mouth, my dear. Or have you forgotten that I was denied of the pleasure of your oral proficiency earlier?” 

The immediate subconscious response from Julian is an almost feline lick of lips as if he were tasting him right now, that thought planted back into Julian’s head as his long legs untangle from Garak’s torso, aiding in that unwelcome loss of their joining. The weight lifted, Julian extracting himself with an indolent finality and a longing glance to Garak’s proud cock, Garak can feel that tingle of nerves in his legs as he straightens them back out. The feeling of blood moving again may very well be the second best thing he’s felt today and he casts himself a withering mental chastisement that he sounds like a hundred fifty year old Legate with nothing left but a million memories of youthful virility and little else. _Hardly…_ “Hardly” being the amount that his erection has flagged with the blood pumping back through his legs. “Hardly” being the amount of time that Julian waits before putting a hand to his thigh and dipping his head, drawing a hiss as from Garak nearly falling backwards on the floor just barely catching himself on his hands.

He feels Julian’s hot breath ghost over him and he sees the heavy breaths as Julian glances up and locks eyes with him as if some silent permission is needed. No, this is not the animal, and that question of Julian’s eyes, leaves him wanting even more. Garak’s eyes move up Julian’s shaking shoulders to palms pressed to the floor on either side of his hips, and then further down the to the dip of his back to the swell of his ass stuck high in the air. His memories swirl around his head, the image of Julian hands on the bed, or better still behind his back as Garak fucks into his mouth. Sometimes Garak’s hands fall to the back of Julian’s head no longer needing any urging and the feel of his cock slipping down Julian’s throat always makes his knees buckle. He can see a brilliant flash of the future, a grand prophet of fellatio that vision surely coming to pass should he allow the current course to be run. 

But as pleasant as that is, there is yet another thought that insinuates itself into his mix of memory. The sight of Julian’s ass wiggling in the air makes him wish he was both here to savor Julian’s mouth and then behind as well to appreciate the sight. It is that desire which gives him the most wicked idea- which Julian will inform him later between incredulous laughs is a practice so common in the human sexual lexicon that it has several hundred euphemisms along with its very own assigned numeric designation- and he steadies himself enough to put a finger to Julian’s sweat dampened forehead to halt that progression of his mouth.

“Turn around,” Garak says, imagining he may need to describe this with some detail when a knowing light flickers in Julian’s eyes in a moment of perfect sexual quantum entanglement. He looks about to ask if Garak is absolutely certain, the matter of “Cardassian puritanical coitus” having come up before in less heated moments, when Garak merely repeats that command, face feeling stretched hot with need. “Turn around, Julian.”

“Oh yes.... yes...Master...” Another lusty sigh, still dreamy, Julian likely remembering the feel of Garak’s mouth on him, the human memory needing more key triggers to snap the trap though Julian less than most. Perhaps Garak ought to send “the meddling old man” a token of thanks for whatever alterations have made Julian so blessedly receptive to such sexual conditioning. A basket of overly expensive confections ought to do... And speaking of delectable confections...

Garak lays back, thankful that one of Starfleet’s overhauls involved certain floors having heating that stays the chill. Granted that will do little for his back on the hard surface but as Julian shifts and swings, that thought is compartmentalized elsewhere, Julian’s knees straddling his chest, feet slipping under Garak’s arms, placing that perfect ass right at eye level. There’s a soft drag of Julian’s cock, of his sac over Garak’s chest, over the sensitive ridges making him shiver just as Julian’s mouth seeks to return to its previous task. His neck. Garak’s neck is going to hate him as well, craned at the angle it’s at and possibly his stomach muscles but that’s really... _Guls what a sight, shut it you fool, thinking the most inane things instead of-_ His hands catch Julian’s thighs, holding him still from shifting any further back, admiring the sight of Julian’s hole, open, pink rimmed, those slim thighs sticky with thin silken strands of his come stretching, snapping wet with the spread of Julian’s legs. Garak just _revels_ in watching his seed dribble out down those thighs, tongue already tasting that sweltering air in anticipation. 

His hands tease up Julian’s thighs, feeling a shiver at the delicate ghosting of his touch over the faint dust of soft hair just so perfectly human until they rest on the smooth skin of his hips, the same golden like the rest of him surely naughtily sunned to nary a speck alternately colored. Oh yes, he certainly knows Julian’s coloring now slightly darker than natural, everywhere, right down to the dimple of his tight rear. Garak tactilely admires that flank as well with his right hand, now that Julian’s ceased his motion. He strokes a soft sigh, thumb then coming up to slowly circle between his spread cheeks, to press, to draw another whimper, another bite of Julian’s lip, a bow of his head that Garak doesn’t even need to see to know. 

The perverse picture of his mouth to Julian’s hole once more this time to taste not Dukat but himself, but his own thick possession, is a sudden overwhelming imperative as his head moves that little bit more that’s needed. Garak’s mouth certainly beats Julian’s to its target tongue lapping those shaking thighs, feeling the dip of Julian’s chest down as his arms falter, clearly not expecting that a second time.

“Ha... ahhha....” Garak feels the clench of Julian’s open hole around his thumb perfectly as his tongue works up further, tongue giving way to his mouth tasting salty seed, swallowing, slurping thinking for his love of so many sweets there’s just that sweet tang that could almost get him strangely addicted to such a perverse delight. A drizzle of sticky icing over a bite of cinnamon bun- he recalls at the most inopportune time that Tolan would sometimes say a man thinks more of culinary desires the older he gets and resolves never to remember that again

“I should...” Garak licks- sucks loudly without reservation for the nails digging into the tops of Julian’s thighs that it draws. “Make more room...” Garak alternates two fingers to fucking it in and out of him wondering what it might be like to watch Julian’s ass hold some other implement of devilish pleasure to force him open like this for Garak’s pleasure. “To fill you again...”

“Yes...” a heady almost Cardassian hiss drawn, Julian’s breath back over his swollen everted glans in answer. He wants to buck his hips up, give that undignified silent plea of his own but already he feels Julian’s hand shake, squeeze the base of his cock just a touch too hard as he indulges in a lusty bite of Julian’s left buttock and knows that won’t be necessart. Another squeeze, another whimper and Garak’s hands move back to those cheeks with a rough slap, a half swallowed “ys... god” and he feels there could potentially be a pleasant reception to greater, more carefully extracted pain. Marvelous.

He runs his tongue around Julian’s stretched pink rim, feeling spit, sweat, some drip from Julian as he swears softly, a harder squeeze, pressure still numbly dampened as he feels an awkward brush of lips, another bob of Julian’s chest as he tries to steady himself. Garak imagines if he teases enough he can make Julian’s entire body drop, the side of his face rubbing against Garak’s cock overcome with the sensation. He squeezes pliant flesh, holding him open wide, that tease prompting another soft spasm, another wash of what seems to be an endless river of his seed flowing out and right then he almost chokes himself when Julian’s head shifts a shaky, soft scrape of his mouth, teeth trailing carelessly as that mouth lowers down, down, Garak groaning his pleasure as Julian’s knees drop out wider around him.

It’s Garak’s turn to be still now as Julian slowly rocks his cock to Garak’s chest a naughty, dirty slide, slicking his chest with a wash of bodily fluids as Julian’s throat closes, clutches, lips finally resting at the base with a groan stilted from a clear inability to breath. _Guls yes, like that, harder, deeper, you know how I like it, Julian._ Julian does, that memory forgetting nothing and Garak doesn’t know how it all fits, in Julian’s mouth, Julian’s tight little ass slowly bobbing with that effort and just the thought of that mouth obscenely stretched, cheeks puffed then sucked in, spit slicking up and down from that effort makes hims nearly close his eyes and gain some primitive belief in a higher deity.

“Yes, like that,” he pants out the encouraging whisper knowing that Julian will hear every word no matter how softly gasped beneath his breath. “I know you like that,” Garak giving another lick, another circle stab inside, flicking his tongue around feeling Julian’s stretched hole desperate to clench back around his tongue. And prick secure in his throat, Julian’s hand moves from Garak’s cock to his thigh, his knee, seeking some purchase as his head bobs faster to match that motion. He finally settles on  making use of those long fingers grabbing Garak’s hips, greedily sucking him in faster, every bit of air sucked out, the vacuum of his mouth like fucking into the tightest warmest celestial body in the Alpha Quadrant. A long deep suck, a collapsing star, a black hole of hot pleasure around his shaft, moving back up again slowly until that last stretching siphon draws more faint drops of precome from the tip of his cock.

“Yess...” Julian’s mouth releases, catches again, sucks hard, tongue swirling around the hard, flared ridges, drawing that sensitivity back to a hiss from Garak as those lips mouth “Master” again to a sympathetic leak of his cock once more.

Garak distantly hopes that somewhere someone outside is seeing to the very real question of the demise of the entire station. Because it certainly isn’t Garak. No, Garak barely has the presence of mind to move his mouth from Julian’s quivering hole and whisper,

“You love that... don’t you, my dear?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, for the fast pass of lips forming “always” as they move back up once more. Garak’s tongue is quickly down to Julian’s sack, soft, temping thing that it is. So fascinating that yet an even more vulnerable portion of the human anatomy is left to hang so precariously outside the body. Impractical but terribly convenient right now, Garak’s tongue finding plenty of surface to lick, to lap, feeling the immediate drawing up, feeling Julian’s stiff muscles, slim thighs tremor against him. “You love tasting yourself on me,” Garak whispers knowing it to be true just as he loves tasting himself in Julian.

“Please...” is the pitiful answer, and Garak feels the tension of Julian’s body, feels his head move back off his prick letting go, breaths heaving, nails digging into the tops of his thighs and he feels Julian’s forehead pressed to his hip breaths coming harder and sharper. “Please... master,” he begs again that ‘Master” substituting for “Alpha” and though he knows the meaning of both to be the same, the thought that Julian has chosen to use that word that he knows, to recognize that lovely possession makes him feel another surge of heat through his entire body. No, not entirely at that, but at the thought of Julian coming from just this little bit of stimulation from Garak’s hand and his mouth just like this. This being the position lockingthem together like two sybaritic snakes, like some decadent uroboros as Julian once described locked mouth to cock for an eternity. 

Garak wants so badly to finish in Julian’s mouth. He wants to shoot deep into his throat, he wants to come so much that cavity cannot possible contain it and it chokes out around those lips, so full of it that Julian-

“Put it back in your mouth Julian,” Garak says proud of his ability to still speak in some stuttered form of a complete sentence, not waiting for an answer as he fucks fingers back into Julian’s hole making that task that much harder. _And that’s not the only thing so much harder, is it?_ Julian’s cock drags, hips press to Garak’s chest, the the sensitive dip of his collarbone, that flash of heat flashing heavy in his own sac, tight between his legs, inside his body, swollen so grand he almost thinks it could drop out like a human’s for lack of space to contain its volume. Guls, if one could bottle and sell that pheromone, that essence that Julian’s body bathes his fingers in they’d have a fortune to rival the entire planet of Ferenginar.

“Back in your mouth,” Garak repeats, Julian’s beautiful altered body having completely regained that exquisite tightness around his questing fingers makes him have to push harder to force them deeper, Julian’s cock spilling precome so copiously onto his chest Garak could swear that he was already coming. Garak’s left hand snakes around to palm it, to press that broad palm to the head, feeling delicate skin sliding back and forth over that salty damp glans. That skin, a poor substitute for a properly sheathed and protected organ in Garak’s opinion is good and sensitive, and Garak feels the response of insistent fast sucks to his own glans in response to that command. Each “yes” suck, “master” slurp, brings him closer and closer until his hips are pressing up to meet Julian’s damn teasing mouth, not going fully down but some lift programmed halfway there to drive him halfway out of his mind.

Julian’s body rocks back towards his face and Garak draws his sack slowly, carefully into his mouth, mindful of such a sensitive little bit hears “Ah...” half sobbing to simple syllables, a series of sweet half swallowed “M-m-...” unable to finish more than that first morpheme morphing to moans bordering on pain. And yet Julian far from telling him to stop only pushes back more desperately, raising shaky shoulders back up, a flick of sweat spattering Garak’s thighs as Julian tosses his head with a moan sounded bitten out between a bitten lip and Garak pictures him biting it bloody... _Guls_ does he ever want to taste the blood spilling between Julian’s mouth into his own and- and he doesn’t recall Julian ever doing _that_ but there is really no other expression to properly sum Julian’s mouth right now save for fuck. yes.

Like some raquetball sex match being played, Julian fires off a shot, stopping, regrouping a parry to Garak’s deep fingering drill right to that little nub which always makes Julian shoot off extra hard. But it’s then in that moment where Garak really believes his lover, his Omega, his sex addicted slave to be the one unable to complete more than just throat clutching moans that Julian surprises him. He locks his head to that absolute angle, hands to Garak’s thighs, lifting himself back off, down, another slow drag, more teeth the more Garak gasps and pants, snapping his hips up hard and quick as Julian’s hot mouth moans around him. He feels that augmented strength aided by gravity holding him still, holding him down as Julian’s head moves, hyper quick, up down, deeper, face practically slamming a hard sloppy bob up suck, Fuck human _fuck_ he can’t-

“Nnnnggh.... hnn... hnnn...”coming from either of them or both, he has no damn clue held helplessly still while Julian’s own body flies out of control, back and forth between Garak’s fingers, his hand, mouth, every lustful part of Garak grabbing soft skin, jerking in earnest, squeezing pressure taking the place of faltering friction slicked to a smooth glide almost tempted to stop, to let himself go outside Julian’s mouth, his more lurid imagining imagining some licentiously mad daydream of every inch of Julian bathed in it like some living suit of seed. But Julian swallows him deeper, ass swallowing fingers, beckoning him to pull out, to replace digits with his prick and so help him if he dies today he’s going to come in that ass again. 

He might die, might already be dead, Julian’s throat working, surely sore, surely stretched long and far beyond its natural capacity but he only holds it there. Garak feels the arch, the bow of his back, both ways as if his body isn’t sure where to go and he can feel Julian’s sac draw tighter, tighter until he’s sure that Julian in some magnificent defiance of precedent is spilling into his hand, a soft cry like he can’t even believe it himself. He feels more than hears that desperate hitch, feels the curl of Julian’s nails digging into him, scratching rents over muscle and without those hands purposefully holding him down, he’s free to thrust up, to let go, to cover his own face with his hands, Julian’s scent swirling around him as he shuts his eyes and experiences weightlessness. He’s certain that half of whatever intangible spirit he may possess leaves him, his head going back, mouth incapable of sound in the moment that Julian swallows, swallows, tongue swirling around every last spasming drop pulled out of him.

Garak forgets breaths for all of perhaps three of them gasping “Guls”, gasping human curses, realizing that Julian’s weight is gone, only then opening his eyes to wonder what oxygen deprived dreamland has awoken around him. But it isn’t some illusory scene that meets his eyes- or perhaps it is, he reasons considering yet again the unusual situation- but rather Julian turned around, crawling back up his body, mouth closed, face dark and ruddy, short hair as messed as it’s ever been. Garak lifts his head to look better and Julian doesn’t blink, or at least he doesn’t seem to. It strikes Garak oddly for the first time what a fool he’s been to think that he’ll ever be okay losing this. Oh there’s some disappointment at the loss of regular sex, of regular incredible three, four day raw coital marathons with a nubile young body incapable of saying no but with a bit more diligence and talks with Quark _that_ could be replaced.

No, it’s _this_ , this new shift to whatever causes Julian to look at him without the mindless drive of a man better termed as a creature in the throes of primitive lust, but as just that man. As Julian, with long fingers cupping the side of his face, straddling him playfully, a hint of some mischief glinting his his eyes as he sits back, not showing that usual glassy hint of unawareness, of otherness. Garak sits up to follow feeling an ache in his tailbone that he hadn’t noticed before. Julian still says nothing but sits back just a bit more on Garak’s thighs, solicitous of his prick, only half hard, half retracted back. There’s usually that time, that period of lucidity following their joining, but Julian seemed lucid ever since Dukat left and if that was some sort of odd catalyst Garak perhaps might have to grudgingly thank him... _By ejecting him out the airlock_ , he thinks murderously, half cursing himself as well for allowing such unimaginative trash to ever lay hands on _his_ Julian.

His Julian who’s leaned in with a tilt of his head that Garak cannot resist as their lips brush. That brush turns quickly to a hard press, Julian’s mouth open, not with a flood of tongue, but a river of Garak’s seed passing between them making him groan, nearly making his cock flare violently back to life at that taste, that nerve, hands circling Julian’s back, crushing them closer together, swapping that taste, letting it mingle with his own saliva, with Julian’s, some messy pooling between them both, gasping swallows switching, tongues tasting each other like it’s the first time and Garak bites Julian’s lip, draws it hard, Julian biting back harder, fingers running over the ridges of Garak’s spine making him shiver. 

“Have I given you everything, Garak... Master?” Julian hushes against his mouth and it’s such a cruel thing to have been denied him until now that his mouth moves to Julian’s neck, nipping hard, pulling blood to the surface, nearly breaking skin until Julian’s nails respond in kind not nearly as delicate, deceptively sharp for such tidy doctor nails.

He may be bleeding, that sensitive skin drawing a fast endorphin rush following pain and he thinks of the Institute and those training sessions with the pain stick, with the other more crude devices so that one could develop a feel for every nuance of torture. Those pale in comparison to the sinewy twist of Julian’s body on his lap, head tipped back so far with a throat _purr_ that the very long, very salty smooth column may be allowing his head to go back back and suddenly those human vampire legends seem to blossom with new appeal for the taste of warm blood from a delicate waiting human neck. For all he knows, the Bajorans may already have their odd tales of their Cardassian occupiers and as he bites, as he sucks, as he licks the reddened wound, he supposes there may be some truth to a few of those after all should they exist.

_I don’t believe there can ever truly be everything, my dear, as I’m afraid I won’t ever have enough of you._ Naturally he’d sooner repeat this performance on stage for the entirety of the station than say such an appalling admission out loud so he merely murmurs that it remains to be seen, thankful again for Julian’s enhanced hearing. In response, Julian’s head comes back up, hands dancing back up to his shoulders, a push away, or rather not entirely, but just enough distance between them that Julian can press their foreheads together. Garak doesn’t imagine that he understands the significance, the sensation, the way in which heat blossoms all the way down to his toes when that sensitive dip meets hot skin. It burns hotter, almost feverish, sensing Julian’s pulse beating so fast that it makes Garak himself breathless to match. Their eyes are closed, faces so close it wouldn’t matter if they weren’t but all the same there’s an expression that he can see in Julian’s tone alone as he speaks softly, another shift, slightly painful pressure to his groin that he steadfastly ignores.

“Do you... do you want to put it in me again?” Julian asks almost strangely shy, uncertain, as if there were anything else in the universe that Garak should desire more. There’s a twitch of his prick in response, having already retracted further back and that _hurts_ so terribly as much as he desperately wishes to answer in the affirmative. There’s a certain charm to Julian’s inability to voice such base desires when not in the deepest throes of that heat, another hint that it is Julian asking and so help him he wants to but-

“Always” slips from between his traitorous lips before he can call it back and he wonders how in the name of every dead Hebetian he’s ever going to pull _that_ one off.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last the end! No sex here but setting up for the third and final story. Julian and Garak work things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm glad I took a bit of time in starting this because I ended up getting a brilliant bit of inspiration for the final installment coming soon. So I backed off on any real angst deciding ultimately I want to keep this porn with plot and light on too much extraneous baggage like that so there you go. Thank you everyone for all of your encouragement and kind words. No sex here, but I hope to outdo myself when I start on the third story ;)

“Do you think we might... not do that here then?” Julian asks, Garak feeling the heat move away from his face as he opens his eyes. He sees Julian looking up and away from him almost distantly and he realizes that the alarms, that all of the background noise has finally ceased. They’re not dead. At least he’s certain that his incorporeal form wouldn’t be so Guls damned _sore_ if that _were_ the case. _Unless of course one believes that the afterlife is merely an extension of the physical in the way the E-geeptians Julian speaks of carting their baubles and servants to the afterlife with them. Imagine, Elim, dead, buried, with all the trappings of an imperfect physical body._ Garak sighs and sees Julian is still looking up at that point and it hits him exactly what it is that Julian is looking at. It’s the security camera, and it circles back to the beginning of this entire misadventure. Garak hopes if he _is dead_ that Dukat is there with him. He wonders if he could kill him again if that were the case.

“You know, there’s a special place in hell for you, Garak.” Julian’s voice interrupts Garak’s erstwhile thoughts of the afterlife with a posthumously themed remark of his own. There’s a fondness, almost dark amusement in his voice that Garak is wary of. Humor was the last reaction that he was expecting. Julian turns back, seeing the gears in Garak’s head turning likely seeking some measured response or likely a lie. He pokes Garak’s _chula_ forcing back a smile when he sees the jump in response to the pressure to that sensitive little blue indentation near his collarbone. “Right, you think I’m going to be angry, don’t you?” 

Julian sighs. They’d already had it out once over the matter of Cardassian intrigue where the boy Rugal was concerned and Julian had realized that same anger now over Garak’s self serving spy instincts would be like chastising a lizard for swallowing a fly landing on its tongue. Of course the opportunistic reptile was going to follow its instincts; and Julian trusts Cardassian memory is already working replay his words for him in Garak’s recollection. Well good, let it. He’s too damn tired for it now to do it himself.

“I would be remiss not to point out an earlier... discussion on the matter,” Garak offers wondering if it would be too far out of the realm of their normal pattern of behavior to put his mouth to Julian’s shoulder. He does. Julian lets him, feeling a bit more boneless. He isn’t sure how long a period of lucidity he’ll have; he rather suspects his mind may remain lucid as long as he doesn’t rally against the physical urgings. But this is nice, and Julian just... doesn’t have the energy to rail against how pleasantly warm he is. _Well, score another one for nature then._ He doesn’t keep an official score of his attempts to overcome his biology. The numbers would likely depress him though he imagines it to be comparable to his and Miles’ raquetball numbers. _And speaking of Miles, thank God for small miracles that he wasn’t there for_ _this_ _. And then wouldn’t Marx argue that human nature is the culmination of nothing but social relations and not an inherent trait._ Unless of course one is a genetically altered freak whose behavior, perceptions, words, and sometimes thoughts are manipulated by nothing but billions of extraneous pairs on a helix floating through every part of his body. Julian is beginning to suppose that’s just another thing he’s going to have to accept about himself.

Garak thinks he hears Julian mumble something about opportunistic reptiles doing what they do, Julian, purring softly. Garak takes that as a cue to move his mouth over the soft side of Julian’s neck, warm, sweaty human skin pulsing beneath his mouth. He takes stock of the shambles that is Commander Sisko’s office, the state of Julian and himself and thinks it might be a blessing if everyone on the bridge were in fact dead so they can avoid the awkward scenario of walking out amongst them. He’s still wary of Julian’s easy manner, knowing never to trust something which seems too good to be true, but Julian’s flutter of eyes and soft moan is a wave wash over those doubts, urging his mind onward to the more pressing matter of them making their way back to Garak’s quarters. While Julian’s are far closer, Garak expects the habitat ring and Promenade to remain empty for some time and the extra time to...recover will certainly help. 

He stops when Julian does, Julian looking towards the door, and for one moment Garak is afraid there’s actually someone _there_. Julian is merely looking at it though, or _through_ it really, imagining the other side of it. He thinks of Dax, of Kira, of the poor man who died while he was... _Okay, deep breath, Julian, there wasn’t anything you could have done. Jadzia will understand... Kira will... understand in time and they have to know that you didn’t exactly have any control over the situation._ He processes that thought unpleasantly, thinking if anything the discomfort may trend towards the sympathetic. If anything, that’s almost worse as he _really_ doesn’t want to have to suffer _those_ sorts of looks. While Julian would have hardly run into Dukat’s arms willingly, sixteen years of this nonsense has numbed him to the usual post “drunken one nighter regret” that he used to feel when all this first began. _Yeah, you should be right proud of yourself there._ Julian then hears his father’s voice then in an odd flash of memory and he can’t help it. Julian actually laughs out loud knowing Garak has stopped, looking at him with concern.

“Well, at least the bloke wasn’t a Manchester supporter,” Julian says in a fair mimic of his father’s more colloquial drawl. That was what his father said to him when he was nineteen and spending a self recriminating morning after one of his cycles full of tears and self loathing dry heaving into the toilet. In response, his mother had Mr. Richard Bashir spending a week on the sofa over that one. Julian had somewhat spitefully tossed the wooden support board holding up the sinking center of it as well. His father still has the audacity to complain to this day that had caused his bad back. Julian snickers softly with a shake of his head marveling at the complete culmination of “fucked uppedness” that has comprised his entire life to his point and supposes Garak may be a kindred spirit in that from what he’s managed to piece together on his own. “I bet all the damn Cardies support Manchester,” Julian mumbles to himself as he continues staring at the door.

“I’m afraid my profession has afforded little time over the years to keep abreast of the rivalry between a league of overpaid and overhyped athletes,” Garak answers practically basking in Julian’s glow of astonishment. He doesn’t say anything else, merely continues to stare back at Julian, expression blank with just the hint of a smile. _Never let it be said that you aren’t thorough in your investigations, Elim._ “But if I had to pick a side,” Garak continues thoughtfully, taking note of the still prevalent flush of Julian’s skin, the sheen of sweat, the slight shine of Garak’s come still glistening along his jaw. “I couldn’t possibly support a team whose supporters started the second great footballer riots of 2124.” Garak had only read the strange little sports tidbits as an aside and was quite ready to dismiss them outright when he noticed a correlation in names between the team and that major incident and found himself rather impressed with the nonsense that humans would go to war over. 

“In fairness,’ Julian begins surprisingly breathless, “the conditions after the third World War and the massive famine are widely seen as contributors towards the riot with Williams’ ill-timed protest against the European Hegemony an unfortunate catalyst. I’m hardly an expert on old Earth history if it’s not football related I’m afraid but... but I’d really like to go now,” Julian says eyes bright and eager. He has time, feeling the stirrings starting back up again but knowing they won’t be anywhere approaching unmanageable again for a few hours. At least enough time for poor Garak to have a bite to eat and for the both of them to get a shower. Perhaps together if Garak is of a mind and Julian extricates himself reluctantly. “I don’t… suppose you know how long we’ve ah… been at it?” Julian asks hearing faint voices on the other side of the door.

Well if he were to be honest- never!- Garak couldn’t even be sure of when the alarm had even ceased. 

“I would say if nothing else, we can safely rest assured that with the crisis averted that Dukat has long crawled back to whatever hole he slithered out of in the first place.” He stands with a groan and sets about gathering their clothes, the both of them trying to piece back into some semblance of presentability. His tongue flicks the air and he supposes there are some things that aren’t going to be able to be helped. He shoots Julian a smile that he hopes is reassuring as he puts a hand on his shoulder, regrettably noting his body covered in the rumbled uniform, legs shifting, bending, Julian making a face at the sticky mess causing his likely discomfort. _Ah, and here that delectably disheveled picture nearly distracted you from your final task, Elim._ He isn’t quite sure what Odo is up to but hopes it provides an adequate distraction for what he needs to do. Garak catches another impatient shift of Julian’s weight from one foot to another as he makes his way to the console at Commander Sisko’s desk.

“Really?” Julian says crossing his arms. “You’re really going to do this _now_?” He was at least hoping that Garak might wait. He settles for a disapproving stare as Garak’s hands quickly enter the same access codes from earlier.

“My dear doctor,” Garak answers with mock chastisement, “surely we wouldn’t want Dukat to get away with such dastardly deeds, would we?”

“The security footage is logged, Garak,” Julian points out. “You hardly need your own copy.” Garak looks up, and just _looks_ at him while Julian throws his hands up in the air. “Oh of course, my apologies, of course you need your own copy for whatever blackmail spy nonsense you’ve planned.”

“I believe on Earth you would call it “insurance”, Julian,” Garak replies serenely as he quickly transfers a copy of the file to a secure private server. “Unless of course you plan to file criminal charges with Starfleet in which case it would be a moot issue.”

“Are you mad?!” Julian clears his throat and lowers his voice. “Of course I’m not going to… to… absolutely _not_. The fewer people know about _this_ ,” he waves his hand around the room, “the better.”

“Well that was as I suspected Julian, and so we have our… “insurance”.”

“So help me Garak if you _ever_ release that for anyone else to see it’s over between us.”

“Why Julian, I’m surprised! I thought it was already going to be “over” once you receive your parcel in the next few weeks.” Garak closes the access point out, working quickly to erase his activity. He notices that Julian seems flustered and looks back down so that Julian doesn’t catch any hint of satisfaction at his stammer.

“I mean… I mean our friendship of course you’re right I…” Julian finds himself looking at Garak, looking away again quickly.

“I mean…” _That’s what you want, isn’t it, Julian? For things to go back to “normal” between the two of you?_ Normal, right. _What’s normal, Julian? If you go by the textbook definition of the term, normal is the standard, the usual average. You spent approximately 3 months as sort of barely acquaintances. You’ve spent nearly three_ _years_ _as… as this. This_ _is_ _normal, Julian._ Alright then, he amends to himself: not “normal” going by the standard parameters of their relationship specifically but normal by Julian’s life as a whole. Julian is straight. Julian is not attracted to men. Julian has never been attracted to males of either species and that hasn’t changed. The sexual response not withstanding from stimulation, from that annoying biological process, he has remained completely certain that even going by a sliding scale of sexual fluidity, he’s never fallen anywhere but a hundred percent heterosexual. _Until you got into this thing with Garak, that is._

He really isn’t quite sure why he’s been so resistant to that notion. It’s not that he would have felt any sort of shame or embarrassment if he’d ever found a man attractive in that manner in the past, it was a rather unremarkable thing after all. No, it’s more the matter of being a core part of him that he’s always held in complete certainty- one of the things he could safely rely on to remain static. This whole mess has left him despairing, turning over his interactions with Garak prior to their relationship and even in his eidetic memory he can’t recall any _hint_ of desire on his part. He can recall his thought, his emotions when Garak laid hands on his shoulders that day they first met. There was no heart racing flutter from any of those whispers of intrigue, no breathless desire, no errant thoughts of tasting Garak’s mouth while they were speaking, no covert looks to let his eyes roam over Garak’s form, no wicked daydreams while watching Garak in his shop bent over a table… And now there is.

Julian doesn’t quite know why these last few hours have brought such stark clarity to the matter but as Julian looks at Garak now, thinking those thoughts, aching, longing, he knows with absolute certainty that even once his cycle abates they’re not going to go away. He was dreaming about Garak weeks ago, months ago even. He remembers it vividly. Earlier one day, Julian had been discussing one of the compositions they’d listened to while on break and the shop had been slow a moment. Garak had noticed some slovenly patron had knocked a pair of socks under table on the far end and excused himself to tidy it up. Julian had thought little of it until Garak had to actually half crawl under there to get it and that’s when he realized that his eyes had wandered, staring hard at Garak’s ass, at his knees on the floor and actually thought about… God, he’d honestly thought about what it would be like to take him, to feel Garak trembling around him and he’d practically run out of there after that begging off on some medical emergency.

That had led to more dreams- dreams that he couldn’t simply dismiss as leftover memory from their encounters. He dreamed of that scene again, playing out with the shop closed, with Garak looking at him over his shoulder, suggesting that he get down there behind him and “give him a hand” and he’d woken up so ridiculously hard that he’d taken himself in hand before he even processed what he was gratifying himself to. He’d really been trying to push all of that out of his head and he’d almost convinced himself that it didn’t matter but… but he finally looks back at Garak, crossing his arms and heaven help him he can’t believe he’s even saying this. Julian clears his throat.

“I mean,” Julian continues steadily, proud that his voice doesn’t crack and the he doesn’t stutter. “I would like to continue our relationship. I would like to continue our sexual relationship outside of my periods of necessaity. I need to know if this is real between you and me.” He mentally pats himself on the back though he internally cringes at the formality. Garak for his part is silent a moment, processing that leaving Julian to wonder if that wasn’t part of his usual worst possible thing at worst possible time syndrome. He like to think of it as Julian Syndrome.

Far from is, Garak is merely stunned into silence as he regards Julian looking as if he may try and sink into the floor at any moment. From the little that Julian had shared with him he doesn’t imagine such words have come easily. He would also question the wisdom of making such a proposition mid cycle but Julian hardly seems to be saying it under some biological duress. Garak is also starkly realistic about the odds of Julian trying to recant the moment things on the station normalize as well and he’s back to flirting with his usual revolving bevy of willing women. Garak has spent a lifetime hoping for the best but expecting the worst and this is no different but there is still a certain… easing of weight, a certain bit of smile that comes to his face in spite of his attempts to remain inscrutable. 

“I didn’t mean to alarm you with my silence, my dear,” Garak says at last, a hand on Julian’s shoulder fingers running down the sleeve of his uniform. “I was merely reflecting on how pleased it makes me to hear you say that.”

It’s a rare vulnerability and Julian ought to appreciate it and then never speak of it again. Garak raises a hand before Julian ruins the moment with the obvious caveat of making no promises, not getting his hopes up as if they’re attempting to maneuver through a particularly treacherous asteroid field, shields down, armor weakened the risk of death by explosion imminent. Though it is an apt metaphor for the entire thing, if he does say so himself. Julian takes the cue and smiles at him teasing.

“So as I was saying, Garak, if you even _think_ about showing that footage to anyone we’re over.”

“Really, Julian! You have no appreciation for the little intrigues that make the spice of life. I assure you, the mere knowledge that it is in my possession, ah you couldn’t have given me a better gift!”

“Right,” Julian answered blandly, “Just don’t expect a reoccurrence with that Tain fellow or whoever else you’re trying to create dirt on.” 

Julian turns towards the door, not seeing Garak’s near shudder of revulsion. Garak tamps that down vowing _never_ to impart the many levels on which he finds the mere suggestion of that completely repulsive.

“If you’ve any hope of continuing where we left off, I would ask you never mention that name again in conjunction with that act.” Julian laughs, seeing Garak nearly fail again at hiding a visceral revulsion and he’s almost tempted to say something further but Garak is just sadistic enough to follow through on that and leave Julian writhing on the bed, begging for it, stroking himself just out of reach. He’d done that before, a little game like that, and Julian can’t help but think that it might almost be… fun when it’s conventional arousal outside of that mindless drive. There’s a certain shivery delightful thought at delaying that pleasure- at least while his body is still lazily recovering, getting ready to ramp back up to full fever. _Well Julian, it’s now or never_. He thinks almost shyly holding out a hand for Garak to take.

Garak blinks, not quite sure what Julian is doing until he sees that hand and he knows it’s customary amongst lovers of multiple races to clasps their hands in such a manner. He takes Julian’s hand and gives a squeeze.

“You know,” Julian says conversationally as the door opens and he starts walking forward. “When I was a child I used to hold my breath thinking that it would make me invisible. Do you suppose there may be any merit in that experiment?” Garak chuckled at the picture, certain that the laughter from the both of them is far from the picture they’re supposed to be presenting in light of the circumstances -the Ancients only know what everyone will make the both of them now- but ah, he supposes he’ll have to find some other day to concern himself with propriety. Garak keeps that winning smile pasted on his face as every eye on the Promenade turns towards them. Julian’s next to his is a bit more strained, but nonetheless Garak is pleased. He’d taught him well. It doesn’t go nearly as badly as he had prepared for. As for later...

Surprising no one save perhaps Julian, Dukat had still insisted on reestablishing a Cardassian Garrison on Deep Space Nine even as he finished tucking his shame back into his pants, swaggering out of Commander Sisko’s Office like cock of the walk, to quote one of Julian’s charming old earth idioms. Jadzia may have perhaps been embellishing as she recounted the rest of the ridiculous affair over breakfast. Garak found that his estimation of her company was correct and he may have also enjoyed a bit of Julian’s poorly hidden envy as well when she actually took him up on his breakfast offer a few days later when he was “free”. Which of them it was was the source of Julian’s envy, he could honestly say he wasn’t sure but Julian’s bit of bristling as Garak stuck his head in the infirmary to wish him a good morning might have put an extra bit of spring in Garak’s step as he met Jadzia for breakfast. She had delighted in recounting the ridiculous series of events after Dukat had exited Commander Sisko’s office and then told a harrowing tale of the Commander’s own exploits in saving the lot of them as Dukat half broke down on the Promenade after being called out for his cowardice by a hologram. Garak didn’t think he’d ever howled so loudly.

She’d also been far more knowledgable about Julian’s “condition” than he ever would have guessed. Garak was doubly impressed that everyone in the station didn’t know everything about it as a result but it seemed that Julian was in desperate need of someone to confide in and he didn’t imagine that Chief O’Brien might be the most comfortable conversationalist for _that_ particular topic. Jadzia was endlessly curious and more inclined to ask questions or make amusing observations than weigh in with any particular opinion. He also found that she was in possession of a delightfully wicked sense of humor, evidenced by her remark to him a month following that incident on the bridge. (“The Incident” as Julian nebulously refers to it having mercifully been forgotten by most everyone there lingering rather in the form of the occasional _look_ at Julian or him in particular. Julian also steadfastly refused to call him “master” as well.)

“You know,” she began with that twinkle in her eye that usually made Julian wary. Garak was beginning to understand why. “There used to be a big belief on Earth that microchimerism was possible between partners who’d been together a long time. Isn’t that crazy?” She laughed taking a spoonful of porridge.

“Microchimerism?” Garak inquired politely knowing that she was very much like Julian and that an explanation was sure to follow. It was an intriguing one at that. Microchimerism being the presence of foreign cells in a host body usually only seen in transplant patients or mothers after giving birth. “Right, and they used to believe that’s why married couples began to look alike after so long,” she explained and he wondered exactly where she was even going with that. “The frequent exchange of genetic material you know,” she finished with a waggle of her eyebrows.

“Fascinating,” he replied automatically, taking a bite of scone with strawberry jam. He realized then that it was Julian’s favorite breakfast and he shook his head with a soft chuckle. “But I assure you, my dear, that as long as our... cultural exchange have been going on I think I’d notice any new scale growth on Julian by this point.”

“Well you never know,” she teased. “It goes both ways doesn’t it?” It was an obvious fish for information and he weighed his options of clever riposte. 

“Perhaps,” he demurred with another bite of his scone. It hadn’t, _yet_ , but Julian had hinted, oh had he ever hinted and Garak was looking forward to that additional dimension of their relationship. “But of course that’s all fantastic myth after all,” he continued with a shrug leaving her to guess.

“Of course it is,” she agreed, the subject moving on to more station gossip. 

 

It wouldn’t be until months later that Garak would think of the conversation once more while laid up in the infirmary with Julian trying desperately to keep from laughing at his predicament. Fantastic myth indeed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: no, Garak isn't going to be afflicted in the same manner as Julian but oh he is in for a surprise aright. Stay tuned!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Deceptive Signals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7816696) by [sbdrag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sbdrag/pseuds/sbdrag)




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